The morning news. [volume] (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, 1888-06-17
CHAPTER XIII.
AT BAY-THE FATAL STROKE.

We left our hero in his studio, standing
before the canvas on his easel. He had
worked on the face of the saint until weari-
ness had admonished him that further work
might be faulty. He stood back, with his
palette and brushes still in hand, and gazed
upont he features that were coming out
into life. 1t was, as yet--so the Duke
would have said had he seen 1.-THE face of
the Princess Isabel only it seemed different
and different in a way impossible to ex-
plain. The lineaments were the same; in
contour, in form and in feature it vas the
same. Yet, for all that, there was some
thing sprnging to life in this face that was
not IN the face of the living model.
Once or twice the artist moved forward,
and started to touch his brush to a faint
light which he would strengthen. 1t may
have been a shadow, which he would make
deeper; but be it what it might, he did not
make the mark
NO" he said with last glance at the
picture, II will not touch it again until |
have slept and dreamed. VINO knows what
may come to me i'll the visions of my sleep
ing hours Something tells me-has told
me since yesterday-that l shall not paint
the face of my beloved on that canvas.
Aye, | know it now Mercy! Had l for
gotten that my darling may be in troubled
The picture. must have had a wonderful hold
on my inner being, thus to close my thoughts
against the possible catastrophe at the pal
acen
1t was, indeed, as he had said. His paint
ing-the face that he would picture there
had so absorbed and possessed his every
thought and feeling, that he had, for the
time, really forgotten, or had ceased to bear
in mind, the calamity imaged forth by old
Madelon's report. But it came to him now,
and once he turned his thoughts to his loved
one and her surroundings.
But what could he do? Literally moth
ing He could only think, and think, and
think, and torture his heart with vain
imaginings. The confined atmosphere of
the studio was becoming oppressive to him.
He wanted more air and more room. He
would walk by the river, and perhaps into
the country.
He cleaned his palette and put away his
brushes; then covered his canvas; after
which he arranged his garb for the public
streets. He had donned his doubiet of
black velvet and put ON the velvet cap he
usually wore, and all that remained was his
rapier. He took 1t from where it stood
when not in use, and threw the baldric over
his shoulder.
Then he cast sweeping glance over the
room, to make sure that everything was as
it should be; and, being satisfied with the
result of the survey, no turned toward the
door, AS he did so, he took hold upon the
u Ills W buTOW III
back, out of his way, when he paused and
considered.
Considered, what9 Who shall say what
could have possessed him-what could have
led him to turn his attention to that rapiers
1t was a weapon he had worn daily for
months, and on no former occasion had he
once hung it upon his hip and then thought
of exchanging it But he thought of that
now. The blade at his side felt light. 1t
Of hat faH 10 her,
had served him well enough in his passage
with the Marquis Steffano, but suppose he
should be called to defend himself against
a better swordsman; or suppose he should
be waylaid and attacked by highwaymen
Such things had been, and were liable to be
again.
However, he did not spend a long time in
considering. No sooner had the thought of
an exchange occurred to him than he pro-
ceeded to put it into execution. He slipped
the scabbard of the light blade from the
loop at the end of the baldric, and, having
put it back In the corner whence he had
taken it, he went to the closet where he
hung his clothing, and took down from an
upper shelf another rapier; but before he
hung it at his side he took it into stronger
light, where he regarded it with tender,
loving look
One not used to judging of such things
would have said that it was new that it had
not been in use at all 1t was true rapier,
though somewhat heavy-certainly heavier
than the rapiers of Italian fabrication. 1t
was a Toledo blade, of exquisite finish and
marvellous temper. The hilt was gold and
steel combined, the grip being fine gold,
while the guard and the light basket pro-
lection for the back of the hand were of
tempered STEEL Its maker had evidently
aimed to afford its poSsessor protection
against the cutlass or broadsword. The
scabbard was an artistic and elaborate
piece of work, being groundwork of sill
yer with an intricate overlay of gold fill
gree.
The weapon had once been the property
of q Spanish nobleman OF high rank, who
had worn it for many years. tie had given
it to the painter, Murillo; and he, by will,
had left it to his friend and pupil, the
Younger Velasquez; and Velasquez, regard
ing Zanoni as the pupil Of his own, who
would do him greatest credit and honor, had
given to him the priceless weapon in token
thereof.
And this was the weapon which the paint
err now hung at his side, having done which,
he went out, locking his door behind him,
and descended to the street.
Upon the broad piazza Of the building he
stood for few m oments to look around
upon the stirring scene open to his view in
the grand square. The day was near its
close. the sun being within an hour of its
setting, and the humble artisans and still
humber laborers on the highways were 60
ing to their homes or TO their places of rest
for the night. How many of them had
never known the shelter Of a proper home
we would not dare TO say; but there were
many They never worked from sun to
sun. They were late in the morning, and
they were tired of work before the day
was done The price Of an Americans
cigar. and the cheapest at that, paid for the
DAYS labor, and supplied the laborer with
the food he ate and the sour, thin wine he
drank.
Zanoni looked; he had given a
shuddering, sympathetic thought to the
ignorant, ill-fed, and far more ill
clad, creatures bearing the makers
image, who passed before him, and was
upon the point of stepping down into the
great thoroughfare when. on casting a
glance in the direction he had thought Of
taking, he saw the two men, Of all the
world, whom at that moment he would
avoid.
They were the Marquis Steffano Farnese
and Count Giuseppe Denaro. He thought
their gaze was turned toward him, but was
not sure. However. he must avoid them.
If they were going to the river by the route