“You shall never enter this room again,” he hissed out between his teeth.  The young man shrugged his shoulders as though he did not care.  Don Paolo sat down again and grasped his umbrella.

“Gianbattista,” said the priest, “I am grateful to you for your friendship, my boy.  But it is very wrong to be violent—­”

“It is one of the seven deadly sins!” cried Marzio, finding his voice at last, and by a strange accident venting his feelings in a sentence which might have been spoken by a confessor to a penitent.

Gianbattista could not help laughing, but he shook his head as though to explain that it was not his fault if he was violent with such a man.

“It is very wrong to threaten people, Tista,” repeated Don Paolo; “and besides it does not hurt me, what Marzio says.  Let us all be calm.  Marzio, let us discuss this matter reasonably.  Tista, do not be angry at anything that is said.  There is nothing to be done but to look at the question quietly.”

“It is very well for you to talk like that,” grumbled Marzio, pretending to busy himself over his model in order to cover his agitation.

“It is of no use to talk in any other way,” answered the priest “I return to the subject.  I only want to convince you that you will find it impossible to carry out your determination by force.  You have only to ask the very man you have hit upon, the Avvocato Garnesecchi, and he will tell you the same thing.  He knows the law better than you or I. He will refuse to be a party to such an attempt.  Ask him, if you do not believe me.”

“Yes; a pretty position you want to put me in, by the body of a dog!  To ask a man to marry my daughter by force!  A fine opinion he would conceive of my domestic authority!  Perhaps you will take upon yourself to go and tell him—­won’t you, dear Paolo?  It would save me the trouble.”

“I think that is your affair,” answered Don Paolo, taking him in earnest.  “Nevertheless, if you wish it—­”

“Oh, this is too much!” cried Marzio, his anger rising again.  “It is not enough that you thwart me at every turn, but you come here to mock me, to make a figure of me!  Take care, Paolo, take care!  You may go too far.”

“I would not advise you to go too far, Sor Marzio,” put in Gianbattista, turning half round on his stool.

“Cannot I speak without being interrupted?  Go on with your work, Tista, and let us talk this matter out.  I tell you, Paolo, that I do not want your advice, and that I have had far too much of your interference.  I will inquire into this matter, so far as it concerns the law, and I will show you that I am right, in spite of all your surmises and prophecies.  A man is master in his own house and must remain so, whatever laws are made.  There is no law which can force a man to submit to the dictation of his brother—­even if his brother is a priest.”

Marzio spoke more calmly than he had done hitherto, in spite of the sneer in the last sentence.  He had broken down, and he felt that Paolo and Gianbattista were too much for him.  He desired no repetition of the scene which had passed, and he thought the best thing to be done was to temporise for a while.