circumstances I would not hesitate a moment."

"And which would you--"

"Neither," replied the young man, with a cool laugh. "Don Paolo is too
good to be killed, and you are not good enough. Come and look at the
cherub's head I have made."




CHAPTER VI


Lucia's cheerfulness was not genuine, and any one possessing greater
penetration than her mother would have understood that she was, in
reality, more frightened than she was willing to show. The girl had a
large proportion of common sense, combined with a quicker perception
than the stout Signora Pandolfi. She did not think that she knew
anything about logic, and she had always shown a certain inconsistency
in her affection for Gianbattista, but she had nevertheless a very clear
idea of what was reasonable, a quality which is of immense value in
difficulties, though it is very often despised in every-day life by
people who believe themselves blessed by the inspirations of genius.

It seems very hard to make people of other nationalities understand that
the Italians of the present day are not an imaginative people. It is
nevertheless true, and it is only necessary to notice that they produce
few, if any, works of imagination. They have no writers of fiction, no
poets, few composers of merit and few artists who rank with those of