the aria he had so capriciously broken off; but he sang badly, and
refused, despite all the persistent appeals showered upon him, to sing
anything else. It was the first time he had exhibited that humorsome
tyranny, which, at a later date, contributed no less to his celebrity
than his talent and his vast fortune, which was said to be due to his
beauty as much as to his voice.

"'It's a woman,' said Sarrasine, thinking that no one could overhear
him. 'There's some secret intrigue beneath all this. Cardinal
Cicognara is hoodwinking the Pope and the whole city of Rome!'

"The sculptor at once left the salon, assembled his friends, and lay
in wait in the courtyard of the palace. When Zambinella was assured of
Sarrasine's departure he seemed to recover his tranquillity in some
measure. About midnight after wandering through the salons like a man
looking for an enemy, the _musico_ left the party. As he passed
through the palace gate he was seized by men who deftly gagged him
with a handkerchief and placed him in the carriage hired by Sarrasine.
Frozen with terror, Zambinella lay back in a corner, not daring to
move a muscle. He saw before him the terrible face of the artist, who
maintained a deathlike silence. The journey was a short one.
Zambinella, kidnaped by Sarrasine, soon found himself in a dark, bare
studio. He sat, half dead, upon a chair, hardly daring to glance at a
statue of a woman, in which he recognized his own features. He did not
utter a word, but his teeth were chattering; he was paralyzed with
fear. Sarrasine was striding up and down the studio. Suddenly he
halted in front of Zambinella.

"'Tell me the truth,' he said, in a changed and hollow voice. 'Are
you not a woman? Cardinal Cicognara----'