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It was not unusual for Maria Luisa and her daughter to accompany him and Marzio when a finished work was to be set up, and Gianbattista knew that there could be no reasonable objection to such, a proceeding. With an anxious heart he left the house and crossed the street to the workshop where the men were already waiting for the carts which were to convey the heavy grating to its destination.
He held it in his hands for a moment, and then, pushing the leather cushion towards Gianbattista, laid it down. "Finish it," he said shortly; "I have something else to do." The apprentice looked up in astonishment, as though he suspected that Marzio was jesting. "I am afraid " he answered with hesitation.
That evening Marzio finished the last cherub's head on the ewer before he left the shop. He had sent Gianbattista home, and had dismissed the men who were working at a huge gilded grating ordered by a Roman prince for a church he was decorating.
"Yes sealed with the red wax that is a little thicker than water," answered Marzio grimly, his eyes still fixed on Gianbattista's face. "In blood," said the young man calmly. "Whose blood would you like, Sor Marzio?" "Paolo's!" The chiseller spoke in a scarcely audible whisper, and bent low over his slate, modelling hard at the figure under his fingers.
"I thought so," muttered Gianbattista between his teeth. Then he raised his voice a little and continued: "And have you the courage, Sor Marzio, to sit there and bargain with me to kill your brother, bribing me with the offer of your daughter's hand? Why do you not kill him yourself, since you talk of such things?" "Nonsense, my dear Tista I was only jesting," said the other nervously.
Olympio and Marzio, who had nothing to fear from justice, remained lurking about the castle; one day Beatrice saw them from a window, and made signs that she had something to communicate to them. The same night Olympio, who having been castellan knew all the approaches to the fortress, made his way there with his companion.
"I believe in forgiveness when the other side begins," said Gianbattista. "Perhaps Marzio will forgive too," argued the priest. "He has nothing to forgive," answered the young man. The reasoning seemed to him beyond refutation. "But if he says he has no objection, if he begs you to come back, I think you might make some advance on your side, Tista.
The sinews of goodness are courage, moral and physical, a fact which places all really good men and women beyond the reach of ridicule and above the high-water mark of the world's contempt. Marzio lacked courage, and his virulence boiled most hotly when he had least to fear for his personal safety.
The idea that he had perhaps injured Marzio in the Cardinal's estimation was very painful to him, in spite of what he had felt that morning. Moreover, the prelate's plain, common-sense view of the case reassured him, and removed a doubt that had long ago disturbed his peace of mind.
Marzio continued to soften the wax between his fingers, and to lay the pieces of it on the slate, pressing them roughly into the shape of a figure. "Has Paolo been here?" asked the master after another long pause. Gianbattista merely shook his head to express a negative. "Then he will come," continued Marzio. "He will not leave me in peace all day, you may be sure." "What should he come for?
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