to him that day of the first conference had been, "Let ME try and
paint it!"

For a long time Luca had been afraid to comply, had only forborne
indeed from utter laughter at the idea from his love and reverence
for the little speaker. Baby Sanzio, who was only just seven years
old as the April tulips reddened the corn, painting a majolica
dish and vase to go to the Gonzaga of Mantua! The good fellow
could scarcely restrain his shouts of mirth at the audacious
fancy; and nothing had kept him grave but the sight of that most
serious face of Raffaelle, looking up to his with serene, sublime
self-confidence, nay, perhaps, rather, confidence in heaven and in
heaven's gifts.

"Let me try!" said the child a hundred times. He would tell no
one, only Luca would know; and if he failed--well, there would
only be the spoiled pottery to pay for, and had he not two whole
ducats that the duke had given him when the court had come to
behold his father's designs for the altar frescos at San Dominico
di Cagli?

So utterly in earnest was he, and so intense and blank was Luca's
absolute despair, that the young man had in turn given way to his
entreaties. "Never can I do aught," he thought, bitterly, looking
at his own clumsy designs, "And sometimes by the help of cherubs
the saints work miracles,"

"It will be no miracle," said Raffaelle, hearing him murmur this;
"it will be myself, and that which the dear God has put into me."