to Don
Paolo, who in his turn would have seized the opportunity for working
upon his brother's mind. Paolo, she thought, would naturally not care to
speak lightly of such an occurrence, and his somewhat constrained manner
at the present moment might be attributed to this cause. To prevent any
further questions from her mother or Gianbattista, Lucia interposed.

"Yes," she said, "he seemed very quiet. He hardly spoke at dinner. But
Tista says he may perhaps be here before long, and then we shall know."

It was not very clear what was to be known, and Lucia hastened to direct
their attention to the new grating. Gianbattista returned to work with
the men, and the two women and Don Paolo stood looking on, occasionally
shifting their position to get a better view of the work. Gianbattista
was mounted upon a ladder which leaned against one of the marble pillars
at the entrance of the side chapel closed by the grating. A heavy piece
of arabesque work had just been got into its place, and was tied with
cords while the young man ran a screw through the prepared holes to
fasten one side of the fragment to the bar. He was awkwardly placed, but
he had sent the men to uncover and clean the last pieces, at a little
distance from where he was at work. The three visitors observed him with
interest, probably remarking to themselves that it must need good nerves
to maintain one's self in such a position. Don Paolo, especially, was
more nervous than the rest, owing, perhaps, to what had occurred in the
morning. All at once, as he watched Gianbattista's twisted attitude, as
the apprentice strained himself and turned so as to drive the screw
effectually, the foot of the ladder seemed to move a little on the
smooth marble pavement. With a quick movement Don Paolo stepped forward,
with the intention of grasping the ladder.

Hearing the sound of rapid steps, Gianbattista turned his head and a
part of his body to see what had happened. The sudden movement shifted
the weight, and definitely destroyed the balance of the ladder. With a
sharp screech, like that of a bad pencil scratching on a slate, the
lower ends of the uprights slipped outward from the pillar.
Gianbattista clutched at the metal bars desperately, but the long
screw-driver in his hands impeded him, and he missed his hold.

Don Paolo, the sound of whose step had at first made the young man turn,
and had thus probably precipitated the accident, sprang forward, threw
himself under