“Crespi,” suggested Armando, now interested in the project.
“Crespi? No, no. Some one greater, like—like——”
“D’Annunzio,” Armando ventured again.
“Bah! Who is he? I mean some one very great, like——”
“I know!” cried Marianna. “Like the Pope!”
“No, no,” persisted Bertino. “It must be some man as big as Garibaldi. That’s it. But not a dead Garibaldi. He must be alive, so that I may sell him the bust that you will make of him. What would you do with a man like that, for example?”
“Well,” said Armando, pausing and looking up at the ceiling, as though weighing the matter carefully, “I should make a very fine bust of such a man.”
“Bravo!” cried Bertino. “With a piece of your best work for a sample, how long should I be getting orders for more? Not many days, I promise. And the Americans have gold. What say you, my friend? Is it not a grand idea?”
“Si, si; a grand idea.”
In truth it loomed before Armando as the chance of his life. Now as ardent as the other, he agreed to begin work upon a bust in marble so soon as he should receive from America a photograph of the chosen subject. When finished he would send it to New York, there to be put on exhibition and offered for sale.