“Of course, I shall continue to work with the Cardinal,” said the priest, when the family gave him time to speak.  “But it is a great honour.  I have other news for Marzio—­”

“I imagine that you did not count upon the canonry as a means of pleasing him,” remarked the Signora, Pandolfi, with a smile.

“No, indeed,” laughed Lucia.  “Poor papa—­he would rather see you sent to be a curate in Civita Lavinia!”

“Dear me!  I fear so,” answered Don Paolo, with a shade of sadness.  “But I have a commission for him.  The Cardinal has ordered another crucifix, which he desires should be Marzio’s masterpiece—­silver, of course, and large.  It must be altogether the finest thing he has ever made, when it is finished.”

“I daresay he will be very much pleased,” said Maria Luisa, smiling comfortably.

“I wish he could make the figure solid, cast and chiselled, instead of repousse,” remarked Gianbattista, whose powerful hands craved heavy work by instinct.

“It would be a pity to waste so much silver; and besides, the effects are never so light,” said Lucia, who, like most artists’ daughters, knew something of her father’s work.

“What is a little silver, more or less, to the Cardinal?” asked Gianbattista, with a little scorn; but as he met the priest’s eye his expression instantly became grave.

The apprentice was very young; he was not beyond that age at which, to certain natures, it seems a fine thing to be numbered among such men as Marzio’s friends.  But at the same time he was not old enough, nor independent enough, to exhibit his feelings on all occasions.  Don Paolo exercised a dominant influence in the Pandolfi household.  He had the advantage of being calm, grave, and thoroughly in earnest, not easily ruffled nor roused to anger, any more than he was easily hurt.  By character sensitive, he bore all small attacks upon himself with the equanimity of a man who believes his cause to be above the need of defence against little enemies.  The result was that he dominated his brother’s family, and even Marzio himself was not free from a certain subjection which he felt, and which was one of the most bitter elements in his existence.  Don Paolo imposed respect by his quiet dignity, while Marzio asserted himself by speaking loudly and working himself voluntarily into a state of half-assumed anger.  In the contest between quiet force and noisy self-assertion the issue is never doubtful.  Marzio lacked real power, and he felt it.  He could command attention among the circle of his associates who already sympathised with his views, but in the presence of Paolo he was conscious of struggling against a superior and incomprehensible obstacle, against the cool and unresentful disapprobation of a man stronger than himself.  It was many years since he had ventured to talk before his brother as he talked when he was alone with Gianbattista, and the latter saw the change that came over his master’s manner before the priest, and guessed that Marzio was morally afraid.  The somewhat scornful allusion to the Cardinal’s supposed wealth certainly did not constitute an attack upon Don Paolo, but Gianbattista nevertheless felt that he had said something rather foolish, and made haste to ignore his words.  The influence could not be escaped.