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Filippo murmured a few unintelligible words, and retreated, while the countess knocked several times at the door. "It is I, Laura, the Countess de Canossa." If anybody had been near, the beatings of poor Filippo's heart might have been heard during the pause that ensued before the door was opened.
And he had turned up his nose because it was brackish! "Wish I had some of Filippo's hot biscuits!" said Jim. "I can taste 'em now." "Don't, Jim! It makes me feel worse. How long can a man stand it without eating and drinking?" "There was a fisherman out of Bass Harbor, last October, who went in a power-boat to Clay Bank after hake. His engine played out and he got blown off by a northwester.
So Cosimo let him alone, "labouring to keep him at his work by kindness," understanding, perhaps that it was a child with whom he had to deal, a child full of the wayward impulses of children, the naïve genius of youth, the happiness of all that; the passions, too, a passion, in Filippo's case, for kisses.
In all his misery Filippo's keen eyes still watched with interest the people around him, and he was never tired of studying the swarthy faces and curious garments of the Moorish pirates. Then one day when he happened to be near a smooth white wall, he took a charred stick from a fire which was built close by, and began to draw the figure of his master.
She was alone, and would not only do her duty in going to confession, but would have a chance of seeing how Corona looked when she had been at her devotions. It might also be possible to judge from Padre Filippo's manner whether the interview had been an interesting one. The Astrardente was so very devout that she probably had difficulty in inventing sins to confess.
The name of Filippino's master was Sandro Botticelli, a Florentine artist, who had been one of Filippo's pupils and had worked with him in Prato. Fra Diamante knew that he was the greatest artist now in Florence, and that he would be able to teach the child better than any one else.
Olive looked from one to the other. "It was nothing. I am sorry," she said breathlessly. "He was trying to I was frightened. It was nothing, really, but but I am glad you came." "So am I," the Frenchman said grimly. His blue eyes were grown grey as steel. "I am waiting, Prince." A little blood had sprung from Filippo's cut lip and run down his chin.
This was the Filippo Strozzi who began the Strozzi palace in 1489, father of the Filippo Strozzi who married Lorenzo de' Medici's noble grand-daughter Clarice and came to a tragic end under Cosimo I. Old Filippo's tomb here was designed by Benedetto da Maiano, who made the famous Franciscan pulpit in S. Croce, and was Ghirlandaio's friend and the Strozzi palace's first architect.
Soon the exhaust of the Barracouta proclaimed that they were on their way to Martingale Bank. Percy dozed, but remained conscious of Filippo's culinary operations. At five Lane turned out, according to schedule. He shook Percy vigorously. "Wake up, Whittington! Breakfast!" "Don't care for mine yet." "Aren't you going out with me to haul those traps?" "No!" retorted Percy, sourly.
And although they could not grasp it all, yet, seeing the readiness of Filippo's mind, and perceiving that not one of the other architects had better ground to stand on for he showed a manifest confidence in his speech, ever repeating the same thing in such wise that it appeared certain that he had raised ten cupolas the Consuls, drawing aside, were minded to give him the work, saying only that they would have liked to see something to show how this cupola could be raised without framework, for they approved of everything else.
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