"For heaven's sake," cried the priest in great distress, "no violence,
Tista--I will call the men--"

"Never fear," answered the apprentice quietly; "the man is a coward."

"To me--you dare to say that to me!" exclaimed Marzio, drawing back at
the same time.

"Yes--it is quite true. But do not suppose that I think any the worse of
you on that account, Sor Marzio."

With this taunt, delivered in a voice that expressed the most profound
contempt, Gianbattista went back to his seat and took up his hammer as
though nothing had happened. Don Paolo drew a long breath of relief. As
for Marzio, his teeth chattered with rage. His weakness had been
betrayed at last, and by Gianbattista. All his life he had succeeded in
concealing the physical fear which his words belied. He had cultivated
the habit of offering to face danger, speaking of it in a quiet way, as
he had observed that brave men did. He had found it good policy to tell
people that he was not afraid of them, and his bearing had hitherto
saved him from physical violence. Now he felt as though all his nerves
had been drawn out of his body. He had been terrified, and he knew that
he had shown it. Gianbattista's words stung in his ears like the sting
of wasps.

"You shall never enter this room again," he hissed out between his
teeth. The young man shrugged his shoulders as though he did not care.
Don Paolo sat down again and grasped his umbrella.

"Gianbattista," said the priest, "I am grateful to you for your