"Yes; I tell you I have a great work on hand. I cannot waste my time
over such toys as acanthus leaves and cherubs' eyes!" He bent down and
examined the thing carefully. "You had better lay aside the neck and
take up the body just where I left it, Tista," he continued. "The
scirocco is in your favour. If it turns cold to-morrow the cement may
shrink, and you will have to melt it out again."

Marzio spoke to him as though there had not been the least difference
between them, as though Gianbattista had not proposed to cut his throat
the night before, as though he himself had not proposed to marry
Carnesecchi to Lucia.

"Take my place," he said. "The cord is the right length for you, as it
is too short for me. I am going to model."

Without more words Marzio went and took a large and heavy slate from
the corner, washed it carefully, and dried it with his handkerchief.
Then he provided himself with a bowl full of twisted lengths of red wax,
and with a couple of tools he sat down to his work. Gianbattista, having
changed his seat, looked over the tools his master had been using, with
a workman's keen glance, and, taking up his own hammer, attacked the
task given him. For some time neither of the men spoke.

"I have been to church," remarked Marzio at last, as he softened a piece
of wax between his fingers before laying it on the slate. The news was
so astounding that Gianbattista uttered an exclamation of surprise.

"You need not be frightened," answered the artist. "I only went to look
at a picture, and I did not look at it after all. I shall go to a great
many more churches before I have finished this piece of work. You ought