It was evident that the Italian was in deadly earnest, and that his whole soul was absorbed by one passion--devotion to his art. In the interests of that fetish, crime even was excusable. This is the age of realism--of a realism that too often dispenses with morality. Angelo's æsthetics of death was but the logical outcome of the realistic school. The artist had imparted the necessary edge to his weapon, and reclined once more in an easy attitude, fingering the blade with a delicate touch, and surveying my form with a critical eye. "I cannot say that you are quite the _beau-ideal_ for an artist. A little more massiveness in your figure, a little more muscular development of the limbs, would be more in accordance with the canons of physical beauty. Still, these little imperfections can be rectified on the canvas." The mockery of this remark was not accompanied by any relaxation of his features. He might have been wearing a stone mask, so little mobility did his face display. "Nor can I say that your present expression is precisely that which a dying Christian ought to assume. There is an appreciable want of resignation in it. Still, it is within the power of my pencil to transfigure your face with the divine light of martyrdom, thus conferring upon you an immortality on canvas--an eternity of fame which assuredly you would never gain by the productions of your pen, though literature, we know, be your _forte_." This last was a mocking allusion to a boast of mine made at Rivoli. A devilish motive prompting these remarks was obvious. He wanted to apply torture to the mind before applying it to the body. He felt that the captive was the true victor; for though he might slay me, yet the deed would never make Daphne his. I longed to taunt him with this, and to hurl back gibe for gibe. Prudence restrained me, however. A rash retort might precipitate matters, and cause him to execute his deadly work sooner than he intended; and delay was of value to me, for as the human mind abandons hope only with the last breath, so did I cling to the expectation that rescue might come in a shape I did not dream of. Therefore I listened to the artist without saying a word.