The little party had adjourned from supper, and had been sitting for some time in the small room which served as a place of meeting.  Gianbattista was smoking a cigarette, which he judged to be more in keeping with his appearance than a pipe when he was dressed in civilised garments, and he was drawing an elaborate ornament of arabesques upon a broad sheet of paper fixed on a board.  Lucia seated at the table was watching the work, while Don Paolo sat in a straight-backed chair, his white hands folded on his knee, from time to time addressing a remark to Maria Luisa.  The latter, being too stout to recline in the deep easy-chair near the empty fireplace, sat bolt upright, with her feet upon the edge of a footstool, which was covered by a tapestry of worsted-work, displaying an impossible nosegay upon a vivid green ground.

They had discussed the priest’s canonry, and the order for the crucifix.  They had talked about the weather.  They had made some remarks upon Marzio’s probable disposition of mind when he should come home, and the conversation was exhausted so far as the two older members were concerned.  Gianbattista and Lucia conversed in a low tone, in short, enigmatic phrases.

“Do you know?” said the apprentice.

“What?” inquired Lucia.

“I have spoken of it to-day.”  Both glanced at the Signora Pandolfi.  She was sitting up as straight as ever, but her heavy head was slowly bending forward.

“Well?” asked the young girl

“He was in a diabolical humour.  He said I might take you away.”  Gianbattista smiled as he spoke, and looked into Lucia’s eyes.  She returned his gaze rather sadly, and only shook her head and shrugged her shoulders for a reply.

“If we took him at his word,” suggested Gianbattista.

“Just so—­it would be a fine affair!” exclaimed Lucia ironically.

“After all, he said so,” argued the young man.  “What does it matter whether he meant it?”

“Things are going badly for us,” sighed his companion.  “It was different a year ago.  You must have done something to displease him, Tista.  I wish I knew!” Her dark eyes suddenly assumed an angry expression, and she drew in her red lips.

“Wish you knew what?” inquired the apprentice, in a colder tone.

“Why he does not think about it as he used to.  He never made any objections until lately.  It was almost settled.”

Gianbattista glanced significantly at Don Paolo, shrugged his shoulders, and went on drawing.

“What has that to do with it?” asked Lucia impatiently.

“It is enough for your father that it would please his brother.  He would hate a dog that Don Paolo liked.”

“What nonsense!” exclaimed the girl.  “It is something else.  Papa sees something—­something that I do not see.  He knows his own affairs, and perhaps he knows yours too, Tista.  I have not forgotten the other evening.”

“I!” ejaculated the young man, looking up angrily.