Don Paolo did not know whether to laugh or to look grave at this exposition of Gianbattista’s views of death and matrimony.  He put it down to the boy’s excitement.

“There is another reason, Tista.  The law does not allow a girl of seventeen to be married without her father’s consent.”

“The law again!” exclaimed Gianbattista in disgust.  “I thought the law protected Lucia from her father.  You said so last night, and you repeated it this morning.”

“Certainly, my boy.  But the law also protects parents against any rashness their children may meditate.  It would be no marriage if Lucia had not Marzio’s consent.”

“I wish there were no laws,” grumbled the young man.  “How do you come to know so much about marriage, Don Paolo?”

“It is my profession.  Come along; we will talk to Marzio.”

“What can we say to him?  You do not suppose I will go and beg to be taken back?”

“You must be forgiving—­”

“I believe in forgiveness when the other side begins,” said Gianbattista.

“Perhaps Marzio will forgive too,” argued the priest.

“He has nothing to forgive,” answered the young man.  The reasoning seemed to him beyond refutation.

“But if he says he has no objection, if he begs you to come back, I think you might make some advance on your side, Tista.  Besides, you were very rough with him this morning.”

“He turned me out like a dog—­after all these years,” said Gianbattista.  “I will go back and work for him on one condition.  He must give me Lucia at once.”

“I am afraid that as a basis of negotiations that plan leaves much to be desired,” replied Don Paolo, in a meditative tone.  “Of course, we are all determined that you shall marry her in the end; but unless Providence is pleased to change Marzio’s state of mind, you may have to wait until she is of age.  He will never consent at present.”

“In that case I had better go and take my things away from his house,” returned the apprentice.  “And say good-bye to Lucia—­for a day or two,” he added in a low voice.

“Of course, if you will not agree to be conciliatory it is of no use for you to come with me,” said Don Paolo rather sadly.  “Dear me!  Here comes Maria Luisa with Suntarella!”

“Ah, dear Paolo, dear Paolo!” cried the stout lady, puffing up the stairs with the old woman close behind her.  “How good you are!  And what did he say?  We asked if you had gone at the workshop, and they said you had, so Lucia went in to ask her father whether he would have the chickens boiled or roasted.  Well, well, tell me all about it.  These stairs!  Suntarella, run up and open the door while I get my breath!  Dear Paolo, you are an angel of goodness!”

“Softly, Maria Luisa,” answered the priest.  “There is good and bad.  He has admitted that he will have to consider the matter because he cannot make Lucia marry without her consent.  But on the other hand—­poor Tista—­” he looked at the young man and hesitated.