“You are so kind. Kiss me once more! Gunnar is kind, too—and Ahlin. I shall be more careful. I don’t wish him any harm. Besides, I may marry him, as he is so fond of me. Ahlin would never be brutal—I know that. Do you think he would worry me? Not much. And I might have children. Some day I will come into money, and he is so poor. We could live abroad and we could both work. There is something refined about all his work, don’t you think? That relief of the boys playing, for instance, and the cast for the Almquist monument. Not very original, perhaps, in composition, but so beautiful, so noble and restful, and the figures so perfectly plastic.” Jenny smiled a little and stroked the hair from Francesca’s forehead; it was wet with tears. “I wish I could work like that—always—but I have those eternal pains in my heart and my head. My eyes hurt me too, and I am dead tired always.” “You know what your doctor says—only nerves—every bit of it. If you only would be sensible!” “I know. That is what they all say, but I am afraid. You say that I have no instincts—not in the way you mean, but I have them all right in another way. I have been a devil all this week—I know it perfectly well—but I have been waiting all the time for something awful I knew was going to happen. You see, I was right.” Jenny kissed her again. “I was down at S. Agostino tonight. You know that image of the Madonna that works miracles; I knelt before it and prayed to the Virgin. I think I should be happier if I turned Catholic. A woman like the Virgin Mary would understand. I ought really never to marry. I ought to go into a convent—Siena, for instance. I might paint copies in the gallery and earn some money for the convent. When I copied that angel for Melozzo da Forli in Florence there was a nun painting every day. It wasn’t so bad.” She laughed. “I mean, it was awful. I hated it. But they all said my copies were so good—and so they were. I believe I should be happy in that way. Oh, Jenny, if I only felt well and were at peace in my mind, but I am so bewildered and frightened. If I were well, I could work, work—always. And I’d be so good and nice—you don’t know how good I could be. I know I am not always good. I give in to every mood when I feel as I do at present. I am going to stop it, if only you will love me, all of you, but you especially. Let us ask that Gram here. Next time I see him I’ll be so nice and sweet to him, you see. We’ll ask him here and take him out, and I will do anything to amuse him. Do you hear, Jenny? Are you pleased with me now?” “Yes, Cesca dear.” “Gunnar does not think I can be serious,” she said pensively. “Oh yes, he does; he only thinks you are very childish. You know what he thinks of your work. Don’t you remember what he said in Paris about your energy and your talent? Great and original, he said. He did not think lightly of you that time.” “Gunnar is a nice boy, but he was angry with me because of Douglas.”