That evening Marzio finished the last cherub's head on the ewer before he left the shop.

He had sent Gianbattista home, and had dismissed the men who were working at a huge gilded grating ordered by a Roman prince for a church he was decorating.

Marzio worked on by the light of a strong lamp until the features were all finished and he had indicated the pupils of the eyes with the fine-pointed punch.

Then he sat some time at his bench with the beautiful piece of workmanship under his fingers, looking hard at it and straining his eyes to find imperfections that did not exist.

At last he laid it down tenderly upon the stuffed leather pad and stared at the green shade of the lamp, deep in thought.
The man's nature was in eternal conflict with itself, and he felt as though he were the battle-ground of forces he could neither understand nor control.