“I thought that perhaps he had not time for my crucifix.”

“But he is an artist, my brother!” cried the priest, who resented the idea that Marzio might wish to palm off an ill-made object in order to save time.  “He is a good artist, he loves the work, he always does his best!  When he says he can do nothing better than what he has already finished, I believe him.”

“So much the better,” replied the Cardinal.  “But we must see the work before deciding.  You seem to have great faith in your brother’s good intentions, Don Paolo.  Is it not true?  Dear me!  You were almost angry with me for suggesting that he might be too busy to undertake my commission.”

“Angry!  I angry?  Your Eminence is unjust.  Marzio puts much conscience into his work.  That is all.”

“Ah, he is a man of conscience?  I did not know.  But, being your brother, he should be, Don Paolo.”  The prelate’s bright brown eyes twinkled.

Paolo was silent, though he bowed his head in acknowledgment of the indirect praise.

“You do not say anything,” observed the Cardinal, looking at his secretary with a smile.

“He is a man of convictions,” answered Paolo, at last.

“That is better than nothing, better than being lukewarm.  ’Because thou art lukewarm,’ you know the rest.”

“Incipiam te evomere,” replied the priest mechanically.  “Marzio is not lukewarm.”

“Frigidusne?” asked the Cardinal.

“Hardly that.”

“An calidus?”

“Not very, Eminence.  That is, not exactly.”

“But then, in heaven’s name, what is he?” laughed the prelate.  “If he is not cold, nor hot, nor lukewarm, what is he?  He interests me.  He is a singular case.”

“He is a man who has his opinions,” answered Don Paolo.  “What shall I say?  He is so good an artist that he is a little crazy about other things.”

“His opinions are not ours, I suppose.  I have sometimes thought as much from the way you speak of him.  Well, well—­he is not old; his opinions will change.  You are very much attached to your brother, Don Paolo, are you not?”

“We are brothers, Eminence.”

“So were Cain and Abel, if I am not mistaken,” observed the Cardinal.  Paolo looked about the room uneasily.  “I only mean to say,” continued the prelate, “that men may be brothers and yet not love each other.”

“Come si fa? What can one do about it?” ejaculated Paolo.

“You must try and influence him.  You must do your best to make him change his views.  You must make an effort to bring him to a better state of mind.”

“Eh!  I know,” answered the priest.  “I do my best, but I do not succeed.  He thinks I interfere.  I am not San Filippo Neri.  Why should I conceal the matter?  Marzio is not a bad man, but he is crazy about what he calls politics.  He believes in a new state of things.  He thinks that everything is bad and ought to be destroyed.  Then he and his friends would build up the ideal state.”