He felt so fatigued when he laid aside his rough brush for an instant, that he was compelled to fight against drowsiness in order not to prolong his siesta beyond half an hour. Indeed, he was so afraid that the zeal of his companions might abate, that he took that brief interval of rest by stealth in the gallery of paintings, where his father would lock him in, and where it seemed that no one ever set foot. Two or three times he lacked courage to go and pass the night in the suburb of Catania, although his house was among the first on the road from the villa, and he consented to allow his father to procure a bed for him in the palace. When he did return to the wretched hovel where Mila bloomed like a rose under glass, he neither saw nor comprehended anything that took place about him. He confined himself to kissing his sister and telling her that he was glad to see her, but he had no time to scrutinize her or to talk with her.
The day before the fête was a Sunday. It only remained to give a last glance and a finishing touch to the work. He determined to dress with some care and to stroll about the city after escorting Mila to the evening service. He soon learned the location of the principal churches, squares, and buildings. Lastly, his father introduced him to several of his friends and relations, who welcomed him cordially, and with whom he strove to be amiable. But the contrast between that environment and the society he had frequented at Rome made him sad in spite of himself, and he retired early, longing for the morrow; for, in presence of his work, and under the spell of the noble edifice in which he labored, he forgot that he was of the common people, and remembered only that he was an artist.
At last that day of hope and dread arrived, the day on which Michel's work was to be applauded or ridiculed by the élite of Sicilian society.
VI
THE STAIRCASE
"What! no farther advanced than this?" cried the majordomo, in despair, rushing in among the workmen. "Great God! what are you thinking of? The clock will strike seven in a moment; at eight the carriages will begin to arrive, and half of this room is not yet draped!"
As this apostrophe was addressed to no person in particular, no one replied, and the workmen continued to work with more or less speed, each according to the measure of his strength and his skill.
"Room, room for the flowers!" cried the controller of that notable branch of the establishment. "Put a hundred boxes of camellias in rows along the benches!"
"How do you expect to arrange your boxes of flowers before the carpets are down?" queried Master Barbagallo, with a profound sigh.
"And where do you expect me to put my boxes and flower-pots?" retorted the head gardener. "Why haven't your upholsterers finished their work?"
"Ah! there you are! why haven't they?" said the other, in a tone of intense indignation.