said the elder workman, without looking round; "a light, light hand--no
holes in this work!"

Gianbattista murmured a sort of assent, which showed that the warning
was not wanted. He was intent upon the delicate operation he was
performing. Again the hammers beat irregularly.

"The more I think of it," said Marzio after the pause, "the more I am
beside myself. To think that you and I should be nailed to our stools
here, weekdays and feast-days, to finish a piece of work for a
scoundrelly priest--"

"A cardinal," suggested Gianbattista.

"Well! What difference is there? He is a priest, I suppose--a creature
who dresses himself up like a pulcinella before his altar--to--"

"Softly!" ejaculated the young man, looking round to see whether the
door was closed.

"Why softly?" asked the other angrily, though his annoyance did not seem
to communicate itself to the chisel he held in his hand, and which
continued its work as delicately as though its master were humming a
pastoral. "Why softly? An apoplexy on your softness! The papers speak as
loudly as they please--why should I hold my tongue? A dog-butcher of a
priest!"

"Well," answered Gianbattista in a meditative tone, as he selected
another chisel, "he has the money to pay for what he orders. If he had
not, we would not work for him, I suppose."