The neck of a fiasco protruding from the straw of the _baroccio_ gave point to the accusation.

"_Ubbriaccone_ yourself! _Mascalzone!_" shrieked the carter. "Have an eye yourself to what you meet on the road! Because you drive aristocrats and imbecile _forestieri_ about, do you think you can throw honest working-men into the dust? I'll drag you before the tribunals! You say I am drunk, you lie! You whipped my beast, I saw you!"

"_Socialista!_ _Anarchico!_ _Figlio d'un prete!_ _a.s.sa.s.sino!_" screamed the _fiaccheraio_.

"_Figlio d'una--!_" yelled the _barocciaio_.

"Here now," said Angelescu authoritatively, thinking they had gone quite far enough and annoyed by the uproar, "stop that bawling or I'll give you both in charge. You were on the wrong side of the road and you were asleep," he said to the lowering _barocciaio_, "so if you fell off it was your own fault. However, here's a lira for you, and now pull aside and let us pa.s.s."

He tossed a silver coin to the man whose ill-humour disappeared as though by magic, he even touched his cap and wished the "Signori" a "_Buona pa.s.seggiata_" as he led his horse by. The little dog had stopped barking and sat on his haunches regarding them with bright intelligent eyes, his fluffy ears pointed forward, a tip of his pink tongue showing under his truffle-like muzzle.

The _fiaccheraio_ shook his head apologetically.

"_He vuole_, Signore, those people have no education, they will make a bad end. Did you hear what he said about aristocrats? But that is nothing, you should hear what they say in their socialistic meetings!

They will end like that Brescia who murdered our good King. It is a bad thing for people of no education to talk too much. _Madonna de fiaccherai!_ to think that such _farab.u.t.ti_ should take the bread from honest men's mouths!"

"You are hard on them," said Angelescu.

"Ah, Signore mio, you do not know our _beceri_, and what they are capable of! It is a bad world and one must work hard for a _tozzo di pane_ and a gla.s.s of _vin nero_--and these _merli_ wish to live without working, and that is a thing which has never been since the world began.

They say to us others, 'aha, _minchioni_, we will live on your shoulders!'"

Angelescu amused, continued to draw the old man out; the shrewd mother-wit and quaint phrases of the old Florentine were a source of delight to him. Ragna leaned back, indifferent, lost in the pleasant labyrinth of her day-dreams.

The road came to a sharp turn and the driver instinctively drew rein.

Before them, beyond an indeterminate fore-ground of shadow, rose the city, bathed in the rays of the setting sun. Towers pierced the glowing haze, fairest of all the tower of Palazzo Vecchio, slender and tall like some stately lily, and floating bubble-like on the gold, the wonderful airy cupola of the Duomo. The long level mellow rays of sunset gave the scene an unreal aspect; it seemed that as way-worn pilgrims they had come suddenly upon the golden dream city of their desire, a city called up magically before their eyes, a glorious vision evoked by the power and wonder of their love. Above the dome and the towers, pearly clouds merging into amethyst floated in the gold-pink sky. The sound of many church-bells mellowed by the distance to a suggestion of heavenly music floated to their ears. Both felt instinctively that this was the fit ending to their perfect afternoon. In these last few hours they had attained to the apex of human happiness--whatever the future might hold in store for them, nothing could ever mar the transcendent beauty of this day, nor could they ever hope to surpa.s.s the joy, the glory of it.

CHAPTER XII

The door was opened to Ragna by Nando--Valentini had never permitted her to keep a latchkey--the anxiety of whose countenance was changed to relief at sight of her.

"_Meno male, Signora_, that you have come at last!"

"Why, Nando, what has happened?"

"The Signorini are crying for you, Signora,--the Sor Padrone found them in mischief and beat them,--beat them as though to break their poor little bones--"

But Ragna stayed for no more, her heart in her mouth she sped up the stairs to the room shared by the children.

What had happened was this: while Carolina saw to the preparation of their _goter_, they had wandered in search of amus.e.m.e.nt and finding the door of Egidio's studio open,--a most unusual occurrence, as he generally kept the key in his pocket when not at work, had strayed in.

On the large upright easel near the window stood the portrait of a lady, all but finished, a tall beautiful lady whose white dress and long scarlet scarf threw into relief the dark beauty of her head and the slender grace of her figure. The palette with its sheaf of brushes thrust into the thumb-hole lay carelessly in the box of the easel, as Egidio had left it on going to luncheon.

The boys stood hand-in-hand, gazing open-mouthed at the canvas which was lowered to the last notch, as Egidio had been working on the hair and shoulder-drapery.

"What a beautiful lady," said Mimmo in awed tones, "she must be a princess!"

"Yeth, a fairy princeth," agreed Beppino, on whom his mother's fairy tales had made a deep if confused impression.

"I wonder why _babbo_ never lets us come into this nice house?" queried Mimmo, looking about him--to his childish eyes it seemed a Paradise of delight.

The model's throne was covered by a Persian carpet on which stood a carved armchair of the Bargello pattern, and behind, on a screen, hung a curtain of old blue-green brocade, the same that formed a background to the beautiful lady. At one end of the long, high-ceilinged room, an old black-walnut press, square and ma.s.sive supported some vases of Capodimonte and old Ginori ware, and above it was a picture of the Padre Eterno enthroned on clouds, through which the Dove sent golden beams, while a demon leered from a cave in the lower left hand corner.

Armchairs and _sgabelli_ of various patterns stood about, over some of them were flung long pieces of drapery, brocades and velvets in soft old shades, some of them ragged and torn, but all a delight to the eye. At the other end of the room an old painted _corredo_-chest, the lid turned up, displayed a tumbled heap of costumes within, over it a panoply of armour flanked by two racks of small arms, decorated the wall. On a large round table paint-brushes and tubes of colour made an untidy litter about a Renaissance jewel-casket of steel damascened with gold, and an ivory crucifix on an ebony stand. A deep recess held a stack of half finished portraits, studies, background sketches, bare stretchers and rolls of canvas. A corresponding recess on the other side of the door had been turned into a dressing-room for the model. On the door-lintel stood a small _ecorche_, in plaster, and a few heads, hands, feet and anatomical casts. A lay figure on a divan in the corner, emerged wildly from a trail of drapery.

The children wandered about exploring it all with fearful delight, ready to fly at the sound of their father's footstep, for this was forbidden ground, even to Ragna. As time pa.s.sed and no alarm came, they grew bolder, and presently found themselves standing before the portrait, drawn by its irresistible charm. They stood gazing up at it until suddenly a brilliant idea occurred to Beppino.

"Let'th help _babbo_," he said.

"Babbo will be angry if we touch his things," objected Mimmo, but Beppino was obstinate.

"Me going to help _babbo_," he declared and seized a brush. It happened to be charged with scarlet colour, and left a broad wavering trail over the lady's white skirt. It was too much for Mimmo; he also seized a brush and clambered to the stool Egidio used to sit on when painting.

"You do the dress, Beppino, and I'll do the face! It's too dry, give me that bottle,--I've seen babbo stick his brush in it."

Beppino handed up the desired bottle, and a hard brush dipped in turpentine, gripped firmly in the child's fist was presently scrubbing diligently backwards and forwards over the freshly painted surface. Oily streams ran down from the eyes over cheeks and chin, gobs of impasto spread themselves impartially over the blurred features, the dark of the hair ran down into the face. Face? It was no longer distinguishable as such, and under Beppino's vigorous efforts the white satin of the skirt looked like a Scottish tartan in delirium tremens.

"Beppino," said Mimmo suddenly, in an awed whisper, "her face is coming off!"

It was at this moment that Egidio entered the studio; he saw the children and sprang forward. Beppino, waving his brush, called joyfully,--fear lost in the glory of achievement.

"Babbo! Babbo! we's helping 'oo!"

"Helping indeed!" His eyes roved over the devastated canvas, on which were spread the ruins of his labour of love and a blind fury gripped him.

"_Accidento a voi!_" he yelled, and the children shrank from his blazing eyes and congested face. He seized the two small culprits by their Van Dyck collars and dragged them over to the side of the room where the armour was. The children, too frightened to cry, struggled, but he held them easily with his left hand while he looked about him for an instrument of punishment; seeing a foil in the rack, he took it down.

The first blow brought an agonized scream from both boys, a scream that Carolina heard in the dining-room, where she had just finished laying the table for their _goter_; and that brought her breathless and with flying feet to the studio door. There she stood a second, horrified by the sight that met her eyes. Egidio, his face distorted like that of a fiend, stood slashing at the children indiscriminately and mercilessly; the poor little things had put up their arms instinctively to shield their faces, and each whistling stroke wrung from them a fresh scream, as it descended. Mimmo's golden curls tossed wildly as he shook in the grasp of the madman--for Egidio at that moment was mad--his lace collar was torn, and on his poor little wrist were cruel marks from which red drops trickled. Being the bigger of the two he partially masked Beppino.

Carolina paused but for the taking in of a breath, then she sprang forward and seized in mid-air the hand wielding the foil. Egidio turned on her with a snarl, infuriated by the interruption.

"Go, woman!" he yelled, "how dare you come here?"

"Stop it!" she answered, "let the children go!"

"I shall punish them as I see fit, I--their father. They have ruined my work, do you hear? My work of weeks! Look!"

She glanced at the portrait and saw that it was smeared but her untutored mind could not grasp the extent of the disaster. The sight of it maddened Valentini again and he made an effort to wrench his hand from her hold.

"Signore," she pleaded, "remember that they are little, they are only babies, they did not know."

"Little are they? They are big enough to ruin my work! _Dio santo_, they shall smart for it!"

Again he tugged at her restraining hands.

"Be careful girl--when I am through with them you shall have your turn--who do you think you are to interfere with your master?"

He wrenched his arm free with a force that sent her reeling and once more the foil descended.