"For my part I prefer the damask cloak and the original picture," said
Gouache with decision. "All this mythology is too complicated--too
Pompeian--how shall I say? Besides there is no distinct allusion. A
Hercules on a bracket--anybody may have that. If you were the Marchessa
di San Giacinto, for instance--oh, then everyone would laugh."

"Why? What is that?"

"She married my cousin," said Orsino. "He is an enormous giant, and they
say that she has tamed him."

"Ah no! That would not do. Something else, please."

Orsino involuntarily thought of a sphynx as he looked at the massive
brow, the yellow, sleepy eyes, and the heavy mouth. He wondered how the
late Aranjuez had lived and what death he had died.

He offered the suggestion.

"It would be appropriate," replied Madame d'Aragona. "The Sphynx in the
Desert. Rome is a desert to me."

"It only depends on you--" Orsino began.

"Oh, of course! To make acquaintances, to show myself a little
everywhere--it is simple enough. But it wearies me--until one is caught
up in the machinery, a toothed wheel going round with the rest, one only
bores oneself, and I may leave so soon. Decidedly it is not worth the
trouble. Is it?"