“As if any one had ever gone far enough” exclaimed Marzio, somewhat pacified, for his moods were very quick.  “Since there are still men who are richer than others, it is a sign that we have not gone to the end—­to the great end in which we believe.  I am sure you believe in it too, Tista, don’t you?”

“Oh yes—­in the end—­certainly.  Do not let us quarrel about the means, Maestro Marzio.  I must do another leaf before dinner.”

“I will get in another cherub’s nose,” said his master, preparing to relight his pipe for a whiff before going to work again.  “Body of a dog, these priests!” he grumbled, as he attacked the next angel on the ewer with matchless dexterity and steadiness.  A long pause followed the animated discourse of the chiseller.  Both men were intent upon their work, alternately holding their breath for the delicate strokes, and breathing more freely as the chisel reached the end of each tiny curve.

“I think you said a little while ago that I might marry Lucia,” observed Gianbattista, without looking up, “that is, if I would take her away!”

“And if you take her away,” retorted the other, “where will you get bread?”

“Where I get it now.  I could live somewhere else and come here to work; it seems simple enough.”

“It seems simple, but it is not,” replied Marzio.  “Perhaps you could try and get Paolo’s commissions away from me, and then set up a studio for yourself; but I doubt whether you could succeed.  I am not old yet, nor blind, nor shaky, thank God!”

“I did not catch the last words,” said Gianbattista, hiding his smile over his work.

“I said I was not old, nor broken down yet, thanks to my strength,” growled the chiseller; “you will not steal my commissions yet awhile.  What is the matter with you to-day?  You find fault with half I say, and the other half you do not hear at all.  You seem to have lost your head, Tista.  Be steady over those acanthus leaves; everybody thinks an acanthus leaf is the easiest thing in the world, whereas it is one of the most difficult before you get to figures.  Most chisellers seem to copy their acanthus leaves from the cabbage in their soup.  They work as though they had never seen the plant growing.  When the Greeks began to carve Corinthian capitals, they must have worked from real leaves, as I taught you to model when you were a boy.  Few things are harder than a good acanthus leaf.”

“I should think women could do the delicate part of our work very well,” said the apprentice, returning to the subject from which Marzio was evidently trying to lead him.  “Lucia has such very clever fingers.”

“Idiot!” muttered Marzio between his teeth, not deigning to make any further answer.

The distant boom of a gun broke upon the silence that followed, and immediately the bells of all the neighbouring churches rang out in quick succession.  It was midday.