lligence.

At the end of the large room, nearest to the street door, Luca Lomi was
standing by his life-size statue of Minerva; and was issuing directions,
from time to time, to some of his workmen, who were roughly chiseling
the drapery of another figure. At the opposite side of the room, nearest
to the partition, his brother, Father Rocco, was taking a cast from a
statuette of the Madonna; while Maddalena Lomi, the sculptor's daughter,
released from sitting for Minerva's face, walked about the two rooms,
and watched what was going on in them.

There was a strong family likeness of a certain kind between father,
brother and daughter. All three were tall, handsome, dark-haired, and
dark-eyed; nevertheless, they differed in expression, strikingly as they
resembled one another in feature. Maddalena Lomi's face betrayed strong
passions, but not an ungenerous nature. Her father, with the same
indications of a violent temper, had some sinister lines about his mouth
and forehead which suggested anything rather than an open disposition.
Father Rocco's countenance, on the other hand, looked like the
personification of absolute calmness and invincible moderation; and his
manner, which, in a very firm way, was singularly quiet and deliberate,
assisted in carrying out the impression produced by his face. The
daughter seemed as if she could fly into a passion at a moment's notice,
and forgive also at a moment's notice. The father, appearing to be just
as irritable, had something in his face which said, as plainly as if in
words, "Anger me, and I never pardon." The priest looked as if he need
never be called on either to ask forgiveness or to grant it, for the
double reason that he could irritate nobody else, and that nobody else
could irritate him.

"Rocco," said Luca, looking at the face of his Minerva, which was now
finished, "this statue of mine will make a sensation."

"I am glad to hear it," rejoined the priest, dryly

"It is a new thing in art," continued Luca, enthusiastically. "Other
sculptors, with a classical subject like mine, limit themselves to the
ideal classical face, and never think of aiming at individual character.
Now I do precisely the reverse of that. I get my handsome daughter,
Maddalena, to sit for Minerva, and I make an exact likeness of her. I
may lose in ideal beauty, but I gain in individual character. People may
accuse me of disregarding established rules; but my answer is, that I
make my own rules.