"And the pictures, how do they come on?" she asked of Theobald, after a
long pause.
"Finely, finely! I have here a friend whose sympathy and encouragement
give me new faith and ardour."
Our hostess turned to me, gazed at me a moment rather inscrutably, and
then tapping her forehead with the gesture she had used a minute before,
"He has a magnificent genius!" she said, with perfect gravity.
"I am inclined to think so," I answered, with a smile.
"Eh, why do you smile?" she cried. "If you doubt it, you must see the
_bambino_!" And she took the lamp and conducted me to the other side of
the room, where on the wall, in a plain black frame, hung a large drawing
in red chalk. Beneath it was fastened a little howl for holy water. The
drawing represented a very young child, entirely naked, half nestling
back against his mother's gown, but with his two little arms
outstretched, as if in the act of benediction. It was executed with
singular freedom and power, and yet seemed vivid with the sacred bloom of
infancy. A sort of dimpled elegance and grace, mingled with its
boldness, recalled the touch of Correggio.
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