Meantime he sought to interest them in his other work; nor, now that the domino was out of sight, did they long remain insensible to the artistic wonders lying round them; wonders hitherto beheld but in their unfinished state; because, since hoisting the bells, none but the caster had entered within the belfry.  It was one trait of his, that, even in details, he would not let another do what he could, without too great loss of time, accomplish for himself.  So, for several preceding weeks, whatever hours were unemployed in his secret design, had been devoted to elaborating the figures on the bells.

The clock-bell, in particular, now drew attention.  Under a patient chisel, the latent beauty of its enrichments, before obscured by the cloudings incident to casting, that beauty in its shyest grace, was now revealed.  Round and round the bell, twelve figures of gay girls, garlanded, hand-in-hand, danced in a choral ring—­the embodied hours.

“Bannadonna,” said the chief, “this bell excels all else.  No added touch could here improve.  Hark!” hearing a sound, “was that the wind?”

“The wind, Excellenza,” was the light response.  “But the figures, they are not yet without their faults.  They need some touches yet.  When those are given, and the—­block yonder,” pointing towards the canvas screen, “when Haman there, as I merrily call him,—­him? it, I mean—­when Haman is fixed on this, his lofty tree, then, gentlemen, will I be most happy to receive you here again.”

The equivocal reference to the object caused some return of restlessness.  However, on their part, the visitors forbore further allusion to it, unwilling, perhaps, to let the foundling see how easily it lay within his plebeian art to stir the placid dignity of nobles.

“Well, Bannadonna,” said the chief, “how long ere you are ready to set the clock going, so that the hour shall be sounded?  Our interest in you, not less than in the work itself, makes us anxious to be assured of your success.  The people, too,—­why, they are shouting now.  Say the exact hour when you will be ready.”

“To-morrow, Excellenza, if you listen for it,—­or should you not, all the same—­strange music will be heard.  The stroke of one shall be the first from yonder bell,” pointing to the bell adorned with girls and garlands, “that stroke shall fall there, where the hand of Una clasps Dua’s.  The stroke of one shall sever that loved clasp.  To-morrow, then, at one o’clock, as struck here, precisely here,” advancing and placing his finger upon the clasp, “the poor mechanic will be most happy once more to give you liege audience, in this his littered shop.  Farewell till then, illustrious magnificoes, and hark ye for your vassal’s stroke.”