ose to his feet, and began to pace the floor. Lucia watched
him with intense anxiety. There was a conflict in his mind between the
resentment which was not half an hour old, and the love for his child,
which had been so quickly roused during the last five minutes.

"Well--Lucia, my dear--I do not know--" he stopped short in his walk and
looked at her. She leaned forward as though to catch his words.

"Do you think you could not--that you would be so very unhappy, I mean,
if he lived out of the house--I mean to say, if he had lodgings,
somewhere, and came back to work?"

"Oh, papa--I should faint away again--and I should die. I am quite sure
of it."

Marzio looked anxiously at her, as though he expected to see her fall to
the ground a second time. It went against the grain of his nature to
take Gianbattista back, although he had discharged him hastily in the
anger of the moment. He turned away and glanced at the bench. There were
the young man's tools, the hammer as he had left it, the piece of work
on the leathern pad. The old impulse of foresight for the future acted
in Marzio's mind. He could never find such another workman. In the
uncertainty of the moment, as often happens, details rose to his
remembrance and produced their effect. He recollected the particular way
in which Gianbattista used to hold the blunt chisel in first tracing
over the drawing on a silver plate. He had never seen any one do it in
the same way.

"Well, Lucia--don't faint away. If you can make him stay, I will take
him back. But I am afraid you will have hard work. He will make
difficulties. He threw the money in my face, Lucia--in your father's
face, girl! Think of that. Well, well, do what you like. He is a good
workman. Go away, child, and leave me to myself. What will you say to
him?"

Lucia threw her arms round her father's neck and kissed him in her
sudden joy. Then she stood a moment in thought.

"Give me his money," she said. "If he will take the money he will come
back."

Marzio hesitated, slowly drew out his purse, and began to take out the
notes.

"Well--if you will have it so," he grumbled. "After all, as he threw it
away, I do not see that he has much right to it. There it is. If he says
anything about that ten-franc note being torn, tell him he tore it
himself. Go home, Lucia, and manage things as you can."

Lucia put the money in her glove, and busied herself for a moment in
brushing the dust from her clothes. Mechani