Maria Luisa envied the couple in her sleepy fashion.  Her husband was indeed comparatively rich, and though economical in his domestic arrangements, he had money in the bank enough to keep him comfortably for the rest of his days.  His violence did not extend beyond words and black looks, and he was not miserly about a few francs for dress, or a dinner at the Falcone two or three times a year.  But in the matter of domestic peace his conduct left much to be desired.  He was a sober man, but his hours were irregular, for he attended the meetings of a certain club which Maria Luisa held in abhorrence, and brought back opinions which made her cross herself with her fat fingers, shuddering at the things he said.  As for Gianbattista Bordogni, who lived with them, and consequently received most of his wages in the shape of board and lodging, he loved Lucia Pandolfi, his master’s daughter, and though he shared Marzio’s opinions, he held his tongue in the house.  He understood how necessary to him the mother’s sympathy must be, and, with subtle intelligence, he knew how to create a contrast between himself and his master by being reticent at the right moment.

Lucia opened the door in answer to the bell her father had rung, and stood aside in the narrow way to let members of the household pass by, one by one.  Lucia was seventeen years old, and probably resembled her mother as the latter had looked at the same age.  She was slight, and tall, and dark, with a quantity of glossy black hair coiled behind her head.  Her black eyes had not yet acquired that sleepy look which advancing life and stoutness had put into her mother’s, as a sort of sign of the difficulty of quick motion.  Her figure was lithe, though she was not a very active girl, and one might have predicted that at forty she, too, would pay her debt to time in pounds of flesh.  There are thin people who look as though they could never grow stout, and there are others whose leisurely motion and deliberate step foretells increase of weight.  But Gianbattista had not studied these matters of physiological horoscopy.  It sufficed him that Lucia Pandolfi was at present a very pretty girl, even beautiful, according to some standards.  Her thick hair, low forehead, straight classic features, and severe mouth fascinated the handsome apprentice, and the intimacy which had developed between the two during the years of his residence under Marzio’s roof, from the time when Lucia was a little girl to the present day, had rendered the transition from friendship to love almost imperceptible to them both.  Gianbattista was the last of the party to enter the lodging, and as he paused to shut the door, Lucia was still lingering at the threshold.

“Hist!  They will see!” she protested under her breath.

“What do I care!” whispered the apprentice, as he kissed her cheek in the dusky passage.  Then they followed the rest.

CHAPTER II