As for Pacifica, she had locked herself in her chamber, alone with
her intense agitation. The young men were swaggering about, and
taunting each other, and boasting. Luca alone sat apart, thrumming
an old lute. Giovanni Sanzio, who had ridden home at evening from
Citta di Castello, came in from his own house and put his hand on
the youth's shoulder.
"I hear the Pesaro men have brought fine things. Take courage, my
lad. Maybe we can entreat the duke to dissuade Pacifica's father
from this tyrannous disposal of her hand."
Luca shook his head wearily.
There would be one beautiful thing there, indeed, he knew; but
what use would that be to him?
"The child--the child--" he stammered, and then remembered that he
must not disclose Raffaelle's secret.
"My child?" said Signor Giovanni. "Oh, he will be here; he will be
sure to be here: wherever there is a painted thing to be seen,
there always, be sure, is Raffaelle."
Then the good man sauntered within from the loggia, to exchange
salutations with Ser Benedetto, who, in a suit of fine crimson
with doublet of sad-colored velvet, was standing ready to advance
bareheaded into the street as soon as the hoofs of the duke's
charger should strike on the stones.
"You must be anxious in your thoughts," said Signor Giovanni to
him. "They say a youth from Pesaro brings something fine: if you
should find yourself bound to take a stranger into your workroom
and your home--"
"If he be a man of genius, he will be welcome," answered Messer
Ronconi, pompously.
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