had very little
sense of colour, and thought only of having everything gay, as they
called it; that is to say, the upholstery was to be chosen of the most
vivid hues, probably of those horrible tints known as aniline. Italians,
as a rule, and especially those who belong to the same class as the
Pandolfi family, have a strong dislike for the darker and softer tones.
To them anything which is not vivid is sad, melancholy, and depressing
to the senses. Gianbattista saw in his mind's eye a little apartment
after his own heart, and was happy in the idea. But, as he followed the
train of thought, it led him to the comparison of the home to which he
proposed to take his wife with the one in which they now lived under her
father's roof, and suddenly the scene of the previous evening rose
clearly in the young man's imagination. He dropped his hammer, and
stared up at the grated windows.

He went over the whole incident, and perhaps for the first time realised
its true importance, and all the danger there might be in the future
should Marzio attempt to pursue his plan to the end. Gianbattista had
only once seen the lawyer who was thus suddenly thrust into his place.
He remembered a thin, cadaverous man, in a long and gloomy black coat,
but that was all. He did not recall his voice, nor the expression of his
face; he had only seen him once, and had thought little enough of the
meeting. It seemed altogether impossible, and beyond the bounds of
anything rational, that this stranger should ever really be brought
forward to be Lucia's husband.

For a moment the whole thing looked like an evil dream, and Gianbattista
smiled as he looked down again at his work. Then the reality of the
occurrence rose up again and confronted him stubbornly. He was not
mistaken, Marzio had actually pronounced those words, and Don Paolo had
sprung forward to prevent Gianbattista from attacking his master then
and there. The young man looked at his work, holding his tools in his
hands, but hesitating to lay the point of the chisel on the silver, as
he hesitated to believe the evidence of his memory.

CHAPTER V

Marzio had risen early that morning, as has been said, and had left the
house before any one but Gianbattista was up. He was in reality far from
inclined to drink his coffee in the company of his apprentice, and would
have avoided it, if possible. Nor did he care to meet Lucia until he had
found time and occasion to refresh his anger. His