This was literally true.  Marzio’s words had been gentle enough.  It was his action that had at first startled Don Paolo, and had afterwards set him thinking and reflecting on the events of those few minutes.  But he would not for anything in the world have allowed any of his three companions to know what had happened.  He was himself not sure.  Marzio had excused the position of his hand by saying that the sun was in his eyes.  There was something else in his eyes, thought Paolo; a look of hatred and of eager desire for blood which it was horrible to remember.  Perhaps he ought not to remember it, for he might, be mistaken, after all, and it was a great sin to suspect any one of wishing to commit such a crime; but nevertheless; and in spite of his desire that it might not have been true, Don Paolo was conscious of having received the impression, and he was sure that it had not been the result of any foolish fright.  He was not a cowardly, man, and although his physical courage had rarely been put to the test, no one who knew him would have charged him with the contemptible timidity which imagines danger gratuitously, and is afraid where no fear is.  He was of a better temper than Marzio, who had been startled so terribly by a slight noise when his back was turned.  And yet he had been profoundly affected by the scene of the morning, and had not yet entirely recovered his serenity.

Lucia noticed the tone of his answer, and suspected that something had happened, though her suspicion took a direction exactly opposed to the fact.  She remembered what she had seen herself, and recalling the fact that Paolo had entered the workshop just as she was leaving it, she saw nothing unnatural in the supposition that her father’s conversation with her uncle had taken a religious tone.  She used the word religion to express to herself what she meant.  She thought it quite possible that after Marzio had been so suddenly softened, and evidently affected, by her own fainting fit, and after having been absorbed in some sort of devotional meditation, he might have spoken of his feelings to Don Paolo, who in his turn would have seized the opportunity for working upon his brother’s mind.  Paolo, she thought, would naturally not care to speak lightly of such an occurrence, and his somewhat constrained manner at the present moment might be attributed to this cause.  To prevent any further questions from her mother or Gianbattista, Lucia interposed.

“Yes,” she said, “he seemed very quiet.  He hardly spoke at dinner.  But Tista says he may perhaps be here before long, and then we shall know.”