which they would live, as they had done that morning; and as neither of
them was very imaginative, there was a considerable similarity between
the speculations they indulged in at one time and at another. It was
always to be a snug home, high up, with a terrace, pots of carnations,
and red curtains. Their only difference of opinion concerned the colour
of the walls and furniture. Like most Italians, they had very little
sense of colour, and thought only of having everything gay, as they
called it; that is to say, the upholstery was to be chosen of the most
vivid hues, probably of those horrible tints known as aniline. Italians,
as a rule, and especially those who belong to the same class as the
Pandolfi family, have a strong dislike for the darker and softer tones.
To them anything which is not vivid is sad, melancholy, and depressing
to the senses. Gianbattista saw in his mind's eye a little apartment
after his own heart, and was happy in the idea. But, as he followed the
train of thought, it led him to the comparison of the home to which he
proposed to take his wife with the one in which they now lived under her
father's roof, and suddenly the scene of the previous evening rose
clearly in the young man's imagination. He dropped his hammer, and
stared up at the grated windows.

He went over the whole incident, and perhaps for the first time realised
its true importance, and all the danger there might be in the future
should Marzio attempt to pursue his plan to the end. Gianbattista had
only once seen the lawyer who was thus suddenly thrust into his place.
He remembered a thin, cadaverous man, in a long and gloomy black coat,
but that was all. He did not recall his voice, nor the expression of his
face; he had only seen him once, and had thought little enough of the
meeting. It seemed altogether impossible, and beyond the bounds of
anything rational, that this stranger should ever really be brought
forward to be Lucia's husband.