"Highnesses please," he announced, "a French mister has come to appear.
It is a Stereo-Mondaine and he have a strong want to prend some
photographs of the garden and peoples which is done from colours
already, very rippin'."
Angelo frowned slightly. And when he frowned his long oval face looked
cold and proud, the face of an aristocrat who believed that the world
was made for him and his kind. "Tell the man that we cannot allow him to
take photographs here," he said.
The butler hesitated. "Highness, it is necessary that this man vivre. I
think he has not too much oof. _C'est dure, la publicite!_"
"I can't help that, Americo," Angelo persisted. "You can offer him food
if you think he is poor, but we do not want him to take photographs."
Vanno saw that Marie was looking at her husband intently, with a
peculiar, almost frightened expression, as if she were studying him
wistfully, and finding out something new which she had not wholly
understood.
"Angelo," she ventured, in a small, beguiling voice, "perhaps this poor
man has his pride of an artist. You see, I have a fellow feeling!" She
smiled pleadingly, yet mischievously, and turned an explanatory glance
on the cure. "I was an artist, and I should so love to know what is a
Stereo-Mondaine."
Vanno had never before liked her so much.
Angelo's face changed and softened. "If you want him, it is different!"
he returned. "But you've seemed always to have a horror of
snapshotters."
"He might take the garden," she suggested.
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