“It is all settled,” she said quietly.  Don Paolo looked at her in astonishment.  At that moment Marzio caught sight of him over the girl’s shoulder, in the dusky entrance.

“Come in, Paolo,” he called out “I have something to show you.  Go home, Lucia, my child.”

Not knowing what to expect, and marvelling at the softened tone of his brother’s voice, Don Paolo entered the room, waited till Lucia was out of the passage, and then closed the door behind him.  He stood in the middle of the floor, grasping his umbrella in his hand and wondering upon what new phase the business was entering.

“I have something to show you,” Marzio repeated, as though to check any question which the priest might be going to put to him.  “You asked me for a crucifix last night.  I have one here.  Will it do!  Look at it.”

While speaking, Marzio had uncovered the cross and lifted it up, so that it stood on the bench where he had at first placed it to examine it himself.  Then he stepped back and made way for Don Paolo.  The priest stood for a moment speechless before the masterpiece, erect, his hands folded before him.  Then, as though recollecting himself, he took off his hat, which he had forgotten to remove on entering the workshop.

“What a miracle!” he exclaimed, in a low voice.

Marzio stood a little behind him, his hands in the pockets of his woollen blouse.  A long silence followed.  Don Paolo could not find words to express his admiration, and his wonder was mixed with a profound feeling of devotion.  The amazing reality of the figure, clothed at the same time in a sort of divine glory, impressed itself upon him as he gazed, and roused that mystical train of religious contemplation which is both familiar and dear to devout persons.  He lost himself in his thoughts, and his refined features showed as in a mirror the current of his meditation.  The agony of the Saviour of mankind was renewed before him, culminating in the sacrifice upon the cross.  Involuntarily Paolo bent his head and repeated in low tones the words of the Creed, “Qui propter nos homines et propter nostram, salutem descendit de coelis,” and then, “Crucifixus etiam pro nobis.”

Marzio stood looking on, his hands in his pockets.  His fingers grasped the long sharp punch he had taken from the table after Gianbattista’s departure.  His eyes fixed themselves upon the smooth tonsure at the back of Paolo’s head, and slowly his right hand issued from his pocket with the sharp instrument firmly clenched in it.  He raised it to the level of his head, just above that smooth shaven circle in the dark hair.  His eyes dilated and his mouth worked nervously as the pale lips stretched themselves across the yellow teeth.

Don Paolo moved, and turned to speak to his brother concerning the work of art.  Seeing Marzio’s attitude, he started with a short cry and stretched out his arm as though to parry a blow.