“He has turned me out,” said Gianbattista.  “He has given me an hour to leave his house.  I believe a good part of the hour has passed already—­”

“And Tista says he will not go back at any price,” put in Don Paolo.  The Signora Pandolfi gasped for breath.

“Oh! oh!  I shall faint!” she sobbed, pressing the handle of her parasol against her breast with both hands.  “Oh, what shall we do?  We are lost!  Paolo, your arm—­I shall die!”

“Courage, courage, Maria Luisa,” said the priest kindly.  “We will find a remedy.  For the present Tista can come to my house.  There is the little room Where the man-servant sleeps, who is gone to see his sick wife in the country.  The Cardinal will not mind.”

“But you are not going like tins?” cried the stout lady, grasping Gianbattista’s arm and looking into his face with an expression of forlorn bewilderment.  “You cannot go to-day—­it is impossible, Tista—­your shirts are not even ironed!  Oh dear I oh dear!  And I had anticipated a feast because I was sure that Marzio would see reason before midday, and there are chickens for dinner—­with rice, Tista, just as you like them—­oh, you cannot go, Tista, I cannot let you go!”

“Courage, Maria Luisa,” exhorted Don Paolo.  “It is not a question of chickens.”

“Dear Sora Luisa, you are too good,” said Gianbattista.  “Let us go upstairs first, to begin with—­you will catch cold here on the steps.  Come, come, courage, Sora Luisa!”

He took the good woman’s arm and led her upwards.  But Don Paolo stayed behind.  He believed it to be his duty to return to the workshop, and to try and undo the harm Gianbattista had done himself by the part he had played in the proceedings of the morning.  The Signora Pandolfi suffered herself to be led upstairs, panting and sobbing as she went, and protesting still that Gianbattista could not possibly be allowed to leave the house.

When Don Paolo had parted from the two women an hour earlier, they had not gone home as he had supposed, but, chancing to meet old Assunta near the house, the three had gone together to make certain necessary purchases.  On their return they had inquired for Paolo at the workshop, as Maria Luisa had explained, and Lucia had entered in the confident expectation of finding that the position of things had mended considerably since the early morning.  Moreover, since the announcement of the previous evening, the young girl had not seen her father alone.  She wanted to talk to him on her own account, in order to sound the depth of his determination.  She was not afraid of him.  The fact that for a long time he had regarded favourably the project of her marriage with Gianbattista had given her a confidence which was not to be destroyed in a moment, even by Marzio’s strange conduct.  She passed through the outer rooms, nodding to the workmen, who touched their caps to the master’s daughter.  A little passage separated the large workshop from the inner studio.  The door at the end was not quite closed.  Lucia went up to it, and looked through the opening to see whether Gianbattista were with her father.  The sight she saw was so surprising that she leaned against the door-post for support.  She could not believe her eyes.