Marzio took it up and brought it to the light.  Maria Luisa stared at him sorrowfully, as though reproaching him with indifference in the general calamity.  But Marzio looked intently at the drawing.  It was only a sketch, but it was very beautifully done.  He saw that his ideal was still the same, and that upon the piece of paper he had only reproduced the features he had chiselled ten years ago, with an added beauty of expression, with just those additions which to-day he had made upon the original.  The moment he was sure of the fact he laid aside the board and opened the wooden case.

Maria Luisa, who was very far from guessing what an intimate connection existed between the crucifix and Paolo in her husband’s mind, looked on with increasing astonishment as he took out the beautiful object and Bet it upon the table in the light.  But when she saw it her admiration overcame her sorrow for one moment.

“Dio mio! What a miracle!” she exclaimed.

“A miracle?” repeated her husband, with a strange expression.  “Who knows?  Perhaps!”

At that moment Gianbattista and Lucia entered through the open door, and stood together watching the scene without understanding what was passing.  The young girl recognised the crucifix at once.  She supposed that her father did not realise Paolo’s condition, and was merely showing the masterpiece to her mother.

“That is the one I saw,” she whispered to Gianbattista.  The young man said nothing, but fixed his eyes upon the cross.

“Papa,” said Lucia timidly, “do you know?”

“Yes.  Is he alone?” asked Marzio in a tone which was not like his own.

“There is Assunta,” answered the young girl.

“I will go to him,” said the artist, and without further words he lifted the crucifix from the table and went out.  His face was very grave, and his features had something in them that none of the three had seen before—­something almost of grandeur.  Gianbattista and Lucia followed him.

“I will be alone with him,” said Marzio, looking back at the pair as he reached the door of the sick chamber.  He entered and a moment afterwards old Assunta came out and shuffled away, holding her apron to her eyes.

Marzio went in.  There was a small shaded lamp on the deal table, which illuminated the room with a soft light.  Marzio felt that he could not trust himself at first to look at his brother’s face.  He set the crucifix upon the old chest of drawers, and put the lamp near it.  Then he remained standing before it with his back to the bed, and his hands in the pockets of his blouse.  He could hear the regular breathing which told that Paolo was still alive.  For a long time he could not turn round; it was as though an unseen power held him motionless in his position.  He looked at the crucifix.

“If he wakes,” he thought, “he will see it.  It will comfort him if he is going to die!”

With his back still turned towards the bed, he moved to one side, until he thought that Paolo could see what he had brought, if consciousness returned.  Very slowly, as though fearing some horrible sight, he changed his position and looked timidly in the direction of the sick man.  At last he saw the pale upturned face, and was amazed that such an accident should have produced so little change in the features.  He came and stood beside the bed.