"He is a good artist, your brother," said the Cardinal, nodding his head slowly and joining his hands, while the newspaper slipped to the floor.
"A good artist," repeated Don Paolo, stooping to pick up the sheet. "I have just seen his best work—a crucifix such as your Eminence wishes. Indeed, he proposed that you should take it, for he says he can make nothing better."
"Let us see, let us see," answered the prelate, in a tone which showed that he did not altogether like the proposal. "You say he has it already made. Tell me, has your brother much work to do just now?"
"Not much, Eminence. He has just finished the grating of a chapel for some church or other. I think I saw a silver ewer begun upon his table."
"I thought that perhaps he had not time for my crucifix."
"But he is an artist, my brother!" cried the priest, who resented the idea that Marzio might wish to palm off an ill-made object in order to save time. "He is a good artist, he loves the work, he always does his best! When he says he can do nothing better than what he has already finished, I believe him."
"So much the better," replied the Cardinal. "But we must see the work before deciding. You seem to have great faith in your brother's good intentions, Don Paolo. Is it not true? Dear me! You were almost angry with me for suggesting that he might be too busy to undertake my commission."
"Angry! I angry? Your Eminence is unjust. Marzio puts much conscience into his work. That is all."
"Ah, he is a man of conscience? I did not know. But, being your brother, he should be, Don Paolo." The prelate's bright brown eyes twinkled.
Paolo was silent, though he bowed his head in acknowledgment of the indirect praise.