'The confines established by law——'
'The law? A spider's web, set to catch flies, not hornets. The law does not exist for great folk.'
'True for you. And every man is master on his own land.'
All this time Giovanni was gazing at the rescued Venus.
The sunshine pouring through a side window seemed waking the tender body to warmth and softness after its long imprisonment in the gloom and the chill of the vault; the golden straw surrounding it shone like an aureole.
Giovanni once more noted the stranger. He was on his knees beside the statue, measuring it with his compasses, his square, and a half-circle made of copper; on his face was the same imperturbable calm; in his cold, blue eyes the same piercing curiosity.
'What is he doing? Who is he?' Giovanni asked himself, almost awestruck, as he watched the quick, bold fingers exploring the limbs of the goddess, the secrets of her beauty, all the subtleties of the marble, too delicate for the apprehension of the eye.
At the gate of the villa the priest was still heard yelling at the melting crowd.
'Stay, rascals! Sellers of Christ! fearful of the town guard, but careless of Antichrist! Ipse vero Antichristus opes malorum effodiet et exponet, as said the great preacher St. Anselm of Canterbury. Effodiet, hear you? Antichrist shall dig up the old idols from the earth and again bring them forth to the world.'
But none heeded him.