Besides these members of the family, there was a fourth person at supper, the person whom, of all others, Marzio detested, Paolo Pandolfi, his brother the priest, commonly called Don Paolo.  He deserves a word of description, for there was in his face a fleeting resemblance to Marzio, which might easily have led a stranger to believe that there was a similarity between their characters.  Tall, like his brother, the priest was a little less thin, and evidently far less nervous.  The expression of his face was thoughtful, and the deep, heavily-ringed eyes were like Marzio’s, but the forehead was broader, and the breadth ascended higher in the skull, which was clearly defined by the short, closely-cropped hair and the smooth tonsure at the back.  The nose was larger and of more noble shape, and Paolo’s complexion was less yellow than his brother’s; the features were not surrounded by furrows or lines, and the leanness of the priest’s face threw them into relief.  The clean shaven upper lip showed a kind and quiet mouth, which smiled easily and betrayed a sense of humour, but was entirely free from any suggestion of cruelty.  Don Paolo was scrupulous of his appearance, and his cassock and mantle were carefully brushed, and his white collar was immaculately clean.  His hands were of the student type—­white, square at the tips, lean, and somewhat knotty.

Marzio, in his ill-humour, had no doubt flattered himself that his family would wait for him for supper.  But his family had studied him and knew his ways.  When he was not punctual, he seldom came at all, and a quarter of an hour was considered sufficient to decide the matter.

“What are we waiting to do?” exclaimed Maria Luisa, in the odd Italian idiom.  “Marzio is in his humours—­he must have gone to his friends.  Ah! those friends of his!” she sighed.  “Let us sit down to supper,” she added; and, from her tone, the idea of supper seemed to console her for her husband’s absence.

“Perhaps he guessed that I was coming,” remarked Don Paolo, with a smile.  “In that case he will be a little nervous with me when he comes back.  With your leave, Maria Luisa,” he added, by way of announcing that he would say grace.  He gave the short Latin benediction, during which Gianbattista never looked away from Lucia’s face.  The boy fancied she was never so beautiful as when she stood with her hands folded and her eyes cast down.

“Marzio does not know what I have come for,” began Don Paolo again, as they all sat down to the square table in the little room.  “If he knew, perhaps he might have been here—­though perhaps he would not care very much after all.  You all ask what it is?  Yes; I will tell you.  His Eminence has obtained for me the canonry that was vacant at Santa Maria Maggiore—­”

At this announcement everybody sprang up and embraced Don Paolo, and overwhelmed him with congratulations, reproaching him at the same time for having kept the news so long to himself.