It was this subtle power that Marzio resented, for he saw that it was exerted continually, both upon himself and the members of his household.  The chiseller acknowledged to himself that in a great emergency his wife, his daughter, and even Gianbattista Bordogni, would most likely follow the advice of Don Paolo, in spite of his own protests and arguments to the contrary.  He fancied that he himself alone was a free agent.  He doubted Gianbattista, and began to think that the boy’s character would turn out a failure.  This was the reason why he no longer encouraged the idea of a marriage between his daughter and his apprentice, a scheme which, somewhat earlier, had been freely discussed.  It had seemed an admirable arrangement.  The young man promised to turn out a freethinker after Marzio’s own heart, and showed a talent for his profession which left nothing to be desired.  Some one must be ready to take Marzio’s place in the direction of the establishment, and no one could be better fitted to undertake the task than Gianbattista.  Lucia would inherit her father’s money as the capital for the business, and her husband should inherit the workshop with all the stock-in-trade.  Latterly, however, Marzio had changed his mind, and the idea no longer seemed so satisfactory to him as at first.  Gianbattista was evidently falling under the influence of Don Paolo, and that was a sufficient reason for breaking off the match.  Marzio hardly realised that as far as his outward deportment in the presence of the priest was concerned, the apprentice was only following his master’s example.

Marzio had been looking about him for another husband for his daughter, and he had actually selected one from among his most intimate friends.  His choice had fallen upon the thin lawyer—­by name Gasparo Carnesecchi—­who, according to the chiseller’s views, was in all respects a most excellent match.  A true freethinker, a practising lawyer with a considerable acquaintance in the world of politics, a discreet man not far from forty years of age, it seemed as though nothing more were required to make a model husband.  Marzio knew very well that Lucia’s dowry would alone have sufficed to decide the lawyer to marry her, and an interview with Carnesecchi had almost decided the matter.  Of course, he had not been able to allude to the affair this evening at the inn, when so many others were present, but the preliminaries were nearly settled, and Marzio had made up his mind to announce his intention to his family at once.  He knew well enough what a storm he would raise, and, like many men who are always trying to seem stronger than they really are, he had determined to choose a moment for making the disclosure when he should be in a thoroughly bad humour.  As he walked homewards from the old inn he felt that this moment had arrived.  The slimy pavement, the moist wind driving through the streets and round every corner, penetrating to the very joints, contributed to make him feel thoroughly vicious and disagreeable; and the tirade in which he had been indulging before his audience of friends had loosed his tongue, until he was conscious of being able to face any domestic disturbance or opposition.