io's voice sank into a hissing whisper as he bent over the wax he
was twisting and pressing. Gianbattista glanced at his pale face, and
inwardly wondered at the strange mixture of artistic genius, of
bombastic rhetoric and relentless hatred, all combined in the strange
man whom destiny had given him for a master. He wondered, too, how he
had ever been able to admire the contrasts of virulence and weakness,
of petty hatred and impossible aspirations which had of late revealed
themselves to him in a new light. Have we not most of us assisted at the
breaking of the Image of Baal, at the destruction of an imaginary
representative of an illogical ideal?

"Well, Sor Marzio," said Gianbattista after a pause, "if I were to
return to my worship of you and your principles--what would you do?
Would you take me back to your friendship and give me your daughter?"

Marzio looked up suddenly, and stared at the apprentice in surprise. But
the fresh young face gave no sign. Gianbattista had spoken quietly, and
was again intent upon his work.

"If you gave me a proof of your sincerity," answered Marzio, in low
tones, "I would do much for you. Yes, I would give you Lucia--and the
business too, when I am too old to work. But it must be a serious
proof--no child's play."

"What do you call a serious proof? A profession of faith?"

"Yes--sealed with the red wax that is a little thicker than water,"
answered Marzio grimly, his eyes still fixed on Gianbattista's face.

"In blood," said the young man calmly. "Whose blood would you like, Sor
Marzio?"

"Paolo's!"

The chiseller spoke in a scarcely audible whisper, and bent low over
his slate, modelling hard at the figure under his fingers.

"I thought so," muttered Gianbattista between his teeth. Then he raised
his voice a little and continued: "And have you the courage, Sor Marzio,
to sit there and bargain with me to kill your brother, bribing me with
the offer of your daughter's hand? Why do you not kill him yourself,
since you talk of such things?"

"Nonsense, my dear Tista--I was only jesting," said the other nervously.
"It is just like your folly to take me in earnest." The anger had died
out of Marzio's voice and he spoke almost persuasively.

"I do not know," answered the young man. "I think you were in earnest
for a moment. I would not advise you to talk in that way before any one
else. People might interpret your meaning seriously."

"After all, you yourself were threatenin