no means of action in their family life, it came to pass that Ginevra
turned the principle against her father; as a child she forgave him
nothing, and he was forced to yield to her. Piombo saw nothing more
than childish nonsense in these fictitious quarrels, but the child
was all the while acquiring a habit of ruling her parents. In the
midst, however, of the tempests which the father was fond of exciting,
a look, a word of tenderness, sufficed to pacify their angry souls,
and often they were never so near to a kiss as when they were
threatening each other vehemently.

Nevertheless, for the last five years, Ginevra, grown wiser than her
father, avoided such scenes. Her faithfulness, her devotion, the love
which filled her every thought, and her admirable good sense had got
the better of her temper. And yet, for all that, a very great evil had
resulted from her training; Ginevra lived with her father and mother
on the footing of an equality which is always dangerous.

Piombo and his wife, persons without education, had allowed Ginevra to
study as she pleased. Following her caprices as a young girl, she had
studied all things for a time, and then abandoned them,--taking up and
leaving each train of thought at will, until, at last, painting had
proved to be her dominant passion. Ginevra would have made a noble
woman had her mother been capable of guiding her studies, of
enlightening her mind, and bringing into harmony her gifts of nature;
her defects came from the fatal education which the old Corsican had
found delight in giving her.

After marching up and down the room for some time, Piombo rang the
bell; a servant entered.