“Who is it?” he asked in a tone that sounded as though he were startled.

“Lucia,” answered the girl timidly.  “May I come in, papa?”

“Wait a minute,” he answered.  She drew back, and, still watching him, saw that he laid the cross down upon the table, and covered it with a towel—­the same one in which it had been wrapped.

“Come in,” he called out “What is the matter?”

“I only came for a moment, papa,” answered Lucia, entering the room and glancing about her as she came forward.  “Mamma sent me in to ask you about the chickens—­there are chickens for dinner—­she wanted to know whether you would like them roasted or boiled with rice.”

“Roasted,” replied Marzio, taking up a chisel and pretending to be busy.  “It is Gianbattista who likes them boiled.”

“Thank you, I will go home and tell her.  Papa—­” the girl hesitated.

“What is the matter?”

“Papa, you are not angry any more as you were last night?”

“Angry?  No.  What makes you ask such a question?  I was not angry last night, and I am not angry now.  Who put the idea into your head?”

“I am so glad,” answered Lucia.  “Not with me, not with Tista?  I am so glad!  Where is Tista, papa?”

“I have not the slightest idea.  You will probably not see Tista any more, nor Gianbattista, nor his excellency the Signorino Bordogni”

Lucia turned suddenly pale, and rested her hand upon the old straw chair on which Don Paolo had sat during his visit.

“What is this?  What do you tell me?  Not see Tista?” she asked quickly.

“Gianbattista had the bad taste to attack me this morning—­here—­in my own studio,” said Marzio, turning round and facing his daughter.  “He put his hands upon my face, do you understand?  He would have stabbed me with a chisel if Paolo had not interfered.  Do you understand that?  Out of deference for your affections I did not kill him, as I might have done.  I dismissed him from my service, and gave him an hour to take his effects out of my house.  Is that clear?  I offered him his money.  He threw it in my face and spat at me as he went out.  Is that enough?  If I find him at home when I come to dinner I will have him turned out by the police.  You see, you are not likely to set eyes on him for a day or two.  You may go home and tell your mother the news, if she has not heard it already.  It will be sauce for her chickens.”

Lucia leaned upon the chair during this speech, her black eyes growing wider and wider, and her face turning whiter at every word.  To her it seemed, in this first moment, like a hopeless separation from the man she loved.  With a sudden movement she sprang forward, and fell on her knees at Marzio’s feet.

“Oh, my father, I beseech you, in the name of heaven,” she cried wildly.

“It is not of the slightest use,” answered Marzio, drawing back.  Lucia knelt for one moment before him, with upturned face, an expression of imploring despair on her features.  Then she sank down in a heap upon the floor against the three-legged stool, which tottered, lost its balance under her weight, and fell over upon the bricks with a loud crash.  The poor girl had fainted away.