her chair, and her fingers nervously twisted
and untwisted the loose ends of the ribbon
fastened round her waist.

"Jealous," thought Father Rocco; " I
suspected it weeks ago."

He turned away, and gave his whole
attention, for a few minutes, to the mixing of
the plaster. When he looked back again, at
the glass, he was just in time to witness a
little accident which suddenly changed the
relative positions of the three persons in the
inner room.

He saw Maddalena take up a modelling-tool
which lay on a table near her, and begin
to help Fabio in altering the arrangement of
the hair in his bust. The young man watched
what she was doing earnestly enough for a
few moments; then his attention wandered
away to Nanina. She looked at him reproachfully,
and he answered by a sign which
brought a smile to her face directly.
Maddalena surprised her at the instant of the
change; and, following the direction of her
eyes, easily discovered at whom the smile was
directed. She darted a glance of contempt at
Nanina, threw down the modelling-tool, and
turned indignantly to the young sculptor,
who was affecting to be hard at work again.

"Signor Fabio," she said, " the next time
you forget what is due to your rank and
yourself, warn me of it, if you please, before-
hand, and I will take care to leave the room."
While speaking the last words she passed
through the doorway. Father Rocco, bending
abstractedly over his plaster mixture, heard
her continue to herself in a whisper, as she
went by him: " If I have any influence at all
with my father, that impudent beggar-girl
shall be forbidden the studio!"

"Jealousy on the other side," thought the
priest. '' Something must be done at once, or
this will end badly."

He looked again at the glass, and saw
Fabio, after an instant of hesitation, beckon
to Nanina to approach him. She left her
seat, advanced half-way to his, then stopped.
He stepped forward to meet her, and, taking
her by the hand, whispered earnestly in her
ear. When he had done, before dropping her
hand, he touched her cheek with his lips, and
then helped her on with the little white
mantilla which covered her head and shoulders
out of doors. The girl trembled violently,
and drew the linen close to her face as he
walked into the larger studio, and, addressing
Father Rocco, said:

"I am afraid I am more idle, or more
stupid, than ever to-day. I can't get on with
the bust at all to my satisfaction, so I have
cut short the sitting, and given Nanina a half
holiday."

At the first sound of his voice, Maddalena,
who was speaking to her father, stopped; and,
with another look of scorn at Nanina, standing
trembling in the doorway, left the room.
Luca Lomi called Fabio to him as she went
away, and Father Rocco, turning to the
statuette, looked to see how the plaster was
hardening on it. Seeing them thus engaged,
Nanina attempted to escape, from the studio
without being noticed; but the priest stopped
her just as she was hurrying by him.

"My child," said he, in his gentle, quiet
way, ''are you going home?"

Nanina's heart beat too fast for her to
reply in words— she could only answer by
bowing her head.

"Take this for your little sister," pursued
Father Rocco, putting a few silver coins in
her hand; " I have got some customers for
those mats she plaits so nicely. You need
not bring them to my rooms— I will come
and see you this evening, when I am going
my rounds among my parishioners, and will
take the mats away with me. You are a
good girl, Nanina— you have always been a
good girl—and as long as I am alive, my
child, you shall never want a friend and an
adviser."

Nanina's eyes filled with tears. She drew
the mantilla closer than ever round her face
as she tried to thank the priest. Father
Rocco nodded to her kindly, and laid his
hand lightly on her head for a moment, then
turned round again to his cast.

"Don't forget my message to the lady who
is to sit to me to-morrow," said Luca to
Nanina, as she passed him on her way out of
the studio.

After she had gone, Fabio returned to the
priest, who was still busy over his cast.

"I hope you will get on better with the
bust to-morrow," said Father Rocco, politely;
"I am sure you cannot complain of your
model."

"Complain of her! " cried the young man,
warmly; " she has the most beautiful head I
ever saw. If I were twenty times the
sculptor that I am, I should despair of being
able to do her justice."

He walked into the inner room to look at
his bust again— lingered before it for a little
while—and then turned to retrace his steps
to the larger studio. Between him and the
doorway stood three chairs. As he went by
them, he absently touched the backs of the
first two, and passed the third; but just as
he was entering the larger room, stopped, as
if struck by a sudden recollection, returned
hastily, and touched the third chair. Raising
his eyes,as he approached the large studio again
after doing this, he met the eyes of the priest
fixed on him in unconcealed astonishment.

"Signor Fabio! " exclaimed Father Rocoo,
with a sarcastic smile; " who would ever
have imagined that you were superstitious?"

"My nurse was," returned the young man,
reddening, and laughing rather uneasily.
"She taught me some bad habits that I have
not got over yet." With those words he
nodded, and hastily went out.

"Superstitious!" said Father Rocco softiy
to himself. He smiled again, reflected for a
moment, and then, going to the window,