CHAPTER II. ATTILIO
In the same street, and opposite Manlio's house, was another studio,occupied by an artist, named Attilio, already of some celebrity,although he had only attained his twentieth year. In it he worked thegreater part of the day; but, studious as he was, he found himselfunable to refrain from glancing lovingly, from time to time, at thewindow on the first floor, where Clelia was generally occupied withher needle, seated by her mother's side. Without her knowledge--almostwithout his own--she had become for him the star of his sky, theloveliest among the beauties of Rome--his hope, his life, his all.Now, Attilio had watched with a penetrating eye the manner in which theemissary of the Cardinal had come and gone. He saw him looking doubtfuland irresolute, and, with the quick instincts of love, a suspicionof the truth entered his mind; a terrible fear for the safety of hisbeloved took possession of him. When Gianni quitted Manlio's house,Attilio stole forth, following cautiously in his footsteps, but stoppingnow and then to elude observation by gazing at the curiosities in theshop-windows, or at the monuments which one encounters at every turn inthe Eternal City. He clutched involuntarily, now and then, at the daggercarefully concealed in his breast, especially when he saw Gianni enter ahouse, and heard him bargain for the use of a room.
Not until Gianni reached the magnificent Palazzo Corsini, where hisemployer lived, and had disappeared therein from sight, did Attilio turnaside.
"Then it is Cardinal Procopio," muttered he to himself; "Procopio, thePope's favorite--the vilest and most licentious of the evil band ofChurch Princes!"--and he continued his gloomy reflections withoutheeding whither his steps went.