e workshop, and to
try and undo the harm Gianbattista had done himself by the part he had
played in the proceedings of the morning. The Signora Pandolfi suffered
herself to be led upstairs, panting and sobbing as she went, and
protesting still that Gianbattista could not possibly be allowed to
leave the house.

When Don Paolo had parted from the two women an hour earlier, they had
not gone home as he had supposed, but, chancing to meet old Assunta near
the house, the three had gone together to make certain necessary
purchases. On their return they had inquired for Paolo at the workshop,
as Maria Luisa had explained, and Lucia had entered in the confident
expectation of finding that the position of things had mended
considerably since the early morning. Moreover, since the announcement
of the previous evening, the young girl had not seen her father alone.
She wanted to talk to him on her own account, in order to sound the
depth of his determination. She was not afraid of him. The fact that for
a long time he had regarded favourably the project of her marriage with
Gianbattista had given her a confidence which was not to be destroyed in
a moment, even by Marzio's strange conduct. She passed through the outer
rooms, nodding to the workmen, who touched their caps to the master's
daughter. A little passage separated the large workshop from the inner
studio. The door at the end was not quite closed. Lucia went up to it,
and looked through the opening to see whether Gianbattista were with her
father. The sight she saw was so surprising that she leaned against the
door-post for support. She could not believe her eyes.

There was her father in his woollen blouse, kneeling, on the brick floor
of the room, before a crucifix, his back turned towards her, his hands
raised, and, as it seemed from the position of the arms, folded in
prayer. The sunlight fell upon the silver figure, and upon the dark
tangled hair of the artist who remained motionless, as though absorbed
in devotion, while his daughter watched him through the half-open door.
The scene was one which would have struck any one; the impression it
made on Lucia was altogether extraordinary. She easily fancied that
Marzio, after his interview with Don Paolo, had felt a great and sudden
revulsion of sentiment. She knew that the priest had not left the studio
many minutes before, and she saw her father apparently praying before a
crucifix. A wonderful conversion had been effec