uddenly recollected that, owing to his brother's
strange conduct, he had left the studio without saying a word about the
errand which had brought him. "Nothing," he repeated. "We talked about
the crucifix, and Marzio gave a very long explanation of the way it was
made. Besides, as Lucia says, she had told me that everything was
settled, and Marzio spoke very quietly."

This was literally true. Marzio's words had been gentle enough. It was
his action that had at first startled Don Paolo, and had afterwards set
him thinking and reflecting on the events of those few minutes. But he
would not for anything in the world have allowed any of his three
companions to know what had happened. He was himself not sure. Marzio
had excused the position of his hand by saying that the sun was in his
eyes. There was something else in his eyes, thought Paolo; a look of
hatred and of eager desire for blood which it was horrible to remember.
Perhaps he ought not to remember it, for he might, be mistaken, after
all, and it was a great sin to suspect any one of wishing to commit such
a crime; but nevertheless; and in spite of his desire that it might not
have been true, Don Paolo was conscious of having received the
impression, and he was sure that it had not been the result of any
foolish fright. He was not a cowardly, man, and although his physical
courage had rarely been put to the test, no one who knew him would have
charged him with the contemptible timidity which imagines danger
gratuitously, and is afraid where no fear is. He was of a better temper
than Marzio, who had been startled so terribly by a slight noise when
his back was turned. And yet he had been profoundly affected by the
scene of the morning, and had not yet entirely recovered his serenity.

Lucia noticed the tone of his answer, and suspected that something had
happened, though her suspicion took a direction exactly opposed to the
fact. She remembered what she had seen herself, and recalling the fact
that Paolo had entered the workshop just as she was leaving it, she saw
nothing unnatural in the supposition that her father's conversation with
her uncle had taken a religious tone. She used the word religion to
express to herself what she meant. She thought it quite possible that
after Marzio had been so suddenly softened, and evidently affected, by
her own fainting fit, and after having been absorbed in some sort of
devotional meditation, he might have spoken of his feelings