“The good God is not a chiseller, Tista.”

The words fell very simply from the young girl’s lips, and the expression of her face did not change.  Only the tone of her voice was grave and quiet, and there was a depth of conviction in it which struck Gianbattista forcibly.  In a short sentence she had defined the difference between his mode of thought and her own.  To her mind omnipotence was a reality.  To him, it was an inconceivable power, the absurdity of which he sought to demonstrate by comparing the magnitude claimed for it with the capacities of man.  He remained silent for a moment, as though seeking an answer.  He found none, and what he said expressed an aspiration and not a retort.

“I sometimes wish that I could believe as you do,” he said.  “I am sure I could do much greater things, make much more beautiful angels, if I were quite sure that they existed.”

“Of course you could,” answered Lucia.  Then, with a tact beyond her years, she changed the subject of their talk.  She would not endanger the durability of his aspiration by discussing it.  “To go back to what we were speaking of,” she said, “you will go to the workshop this afternoon, Tista, won’t you?”

“Yes,” he said mechanically.  “What else should I do?  Oh, Lucia, my darling, I cannot bear this uncertainty,” he cried, suddenly giving vent to his feelings.  “Where will it end?  He may have changed, he may be all you say he is to-day, all that he was not yesterday, but do you really believe he has given up his wild idea?  It is not all as it should be, and that is not his nature.  It will come upon us suddenly with something we do not expect.  He will do something—­I cannot tell what, but I know him better than you do.  He is cruel, he plots over his work, and then, when all seems calm, the storm breaks.  It will not end well.”

“We must love each other, Tista.  Then all will end well.  Who can divide us?”

“No one,” answered the young maid firmly.  “But many things may happen before we are united for ever.”

He was not subject to presentiments, and his self-confident nature abhorred the prospect of trouble.  He had arrived at his conclusion by a logical process, and there seemed no escape from it.  As he had told Lucia, he knew the character of the chiseller better than the women of the household could know it, for he had been his constant companion for years, and was not to be deceived in his estimate of Marzio’s temper.  A man’s natural disposition shows itself most clearly when he is in his natural element, at his work, busied in the ordinary occupations of his life.  To such a man as Marzio, the workshop is more sympathetic than the house.  Disagreeing on most points with his family, obliged to be absent during the whole day, wholly absorbed in the production of works which the women of his household could not thoroughly appreciate, because they did not thoroughly understand the ideas which originated them, nor the