out-of-doors. The girl trembled violently, and drew the
linen close to her face as Fabio walked into the larger studio, and,
addressing Father Rocco, said:

"I am afraid I am more idle, or more stupid, than ever to-day. I can't
get on with the bust at all to my satisfaction, so I have cut short the
sitting, and given Nanina a half-holiday."

At the first sound of his voice, Maddalena, who was speaking to her
father, stopped, and, with another look of scorn at Nanina standing
trembling in the doorway, left the room. Luca Lomi called Fabio to him
as she went away, and Father Rocco, turning to the statuette, looked
to see how the plaster was hardening on it. Seeing them thus engaged,
Nanina attempted to escape from the studio without being noticed; but
the priest stopped her just as she was hurrying by him.

"My child," said he, in his gentle, quiet way, "are you going home?"

Nanina's heart beat too fast for her to reply in words; she could only
answer by bowing her head.

"Take this for your little sister," pursued Father Rocco, putting a few
silver coins in her hand; "I have got some customers for those mats she
plaits so nicely. You need not bring them to my rooms; I will come and
see you this evening, when I am going my rounds among my parishioners,
and will take the mats away with me. You are a good girl, Nanina--you
have always been a good girl--and as long as I am alive, my child, you
shall never want a friend and an adviser."

Nanina's eyes filled with tears. She drew the mantilla closer than ever
round her face, as she tried to thank the priest. Father Rocco nodded
to her kindly, and laid his hand lightly on her head for a moment, then
turned round again to his cast.

"Don't forget my message to the lady who is to sit to me to-morrow,"
said Luca to Nanina, as she passed him on her way out of the studio.

After she had gone, Fabio returned to the priest, who was still busy
over his cast.

"I hope you will get on better with the bust to-morrow," said Father
Rocco, politely; "I am sure you cannot complain of your model."

"Complain of her!" cried the young man, warmly; "she has the most
beautiful head I ever saw. If I were twenty times the sculptor that I
am, I should despair of being able to do her justice."

He walked into the inner room to look at his bust again--lingered before
it for a little while--and then turned to retrace his steps to the
larger studio. Between him and the doorway stood three c