Gianbattista, whose life had probably been saved by Don Paolo's quick action, was dragging away the great ladder, and the workmen came running up in confusion to see what had happened.
It seemed as though Marzio's wish had been accomplished without his agency.

A deadly livid colour overspread the priest's refined features, and as they lifted him his limp limbs hung down as though the vitality would never return to them--all except the left arm, which was turned stiffly out and seemed to refuse to hang down with the rest.

It was dislocated at the shoulder.
A scene of indescribable confusion followed, in which Gianbattista alone seemed to maintain some semblance of coolness.

The rest all spoke and cried at once.

Maria Luisa and Lucia knelt beside the body where they had laid it on the steps of the high altar, crying aloud, kissing the white hands and beating their breasts, praying, sobbing, and calling upon Paolo to speak to them, all in a breath.
"He is dead as a stone," said one of the workmen in a low voice.
"Eh! He is in Paradise," said another, kneeling at the priest's feet and rubbing them.
"Take him to the hospital, Sor Tista--" "Better take him home--" "I will run and call Sor Marzio--" "There is an apothecary in the next street." "A doctor is better--apothecaries are all murderers." Gianbattista, very pale, but collected and steady, pushed the men gently away from the body.
"_Cari miei_, my dear fellows," he said, "he may be alive.