For hours he laboured with the men, not allowing anything to be done without his supervision, and doing more himself than any of the workmen.  He grew hot and interested as the time went on, and he began to doubt whether the work could be finished before sunset.  The workmen themselves, who preferred a job of this kind to the regular occupation of the studio, seemed in no hurry, though they did what was expected of them quietly and methodically.  Each one of them was calculating, as nearly as possible, the length of time needed to drive a screw, to lift a piece into position, to finish off a shank till it fitted closely in the prepared socket.  Half an hour wasted by driblets to-day, would ensure them for the morrow the diversion of an hour or two in coming to the church and returning from it.

From time to time Gianbattista glanced towards the door, and as the hours advanced his look took the same direction more often.  At last, as the rays of the evening sun fell through the western window, he heard steps, and was presently rewarded by the appearance of the Signora Pandolfi, followed closely by Lucia.  They greeted Gianbattista from a distance, for the church being under repairs was closed to the public, and had not been in use for years, so that the sound of voices did not seem unnatural nor irreverent.

“It is not finished,” said Gianbattista, coming forward to meet them; “but you can see what it will be like.  Another hour will be enough.”

At that moment Don Paolo suddenly appeared, walking fast up the aisle in pursuit of the two women.  They all greeted him with an exclamation of surprise.

“Eh!” he exclaimed, “you are astonished to see me?  I was passing and saw you go in, and as I knew about the grating, I guessed what you came for and followed you.  Is Marzio here?”

“No,” answered Gianbattista.  “He said he might perhaps come, but I doubt it.  I fancy he wants to be alone.”

“Yes,” replied Don Paolo thoughtfully, “I daresay he wants to be alone.”

“He has had a good many emotions to-day,” remarked Gianbattista.  “We shall see how he will be this evening.  Of course, you have heard the news, Don Paolo?  Besides, you see I am at work, so that the first great difference has been settled.  Lucia managed it—­she has an eloquence, that young lady!  She could preach better than you, Don Paolo.”

“She is a little angel,” exclaimed the priest, tapping his niece’s dark cheek with his white hand.

“That is four to-day!” cried Lucia, laughing.  “First mamma, then papa—­figure to yourself papa!—­then Tista, and now Uncle Paolo.  Eh! if the wings don’t grow before the Ave Maria—­”