But suddenly Paolo had interrupted him, saying that he would not allow Marzio to compare a church to a circus, nor priests to mountebanks and tight-rope dancers.
Why not?
Then the women had begun to scream and cry, and to talk of his blasphemous language until he could not hear himself speak.

It was Paolo's fault.

If Paolo had not been there the women would have listened patiently enough, and would doubtless have reaped some good from his reasonable discourse.

On another occasion Marzio had declared that Lucia should never be taught anything about Christianity, that the definition of God was reason, that Garibaldi had baptized one child in the name of Reason and that he, Marzio, could baptize another quite as effectually.
Paolo had interfered, and Maria Luisa had screamed.

The contest had lasted nearly a month, at the end of which tune, Marzio had been obliged to abandon the uneven contest, vowing vengeance in some shape for the future.
Many and many such scenes rose to his memory, and in every one Paolo was the opposer, the enemy of his peace, the champion of all that he hated and despised.