“Be of good cheer,” Mario returned, and struck across the courtyard. A moment the prior stood there, puzzled to know what the Honourable meant to do, and striving to reconcile his own inactivity with his duty as head of the convent. But, faithful to his promise, he returned to the brothers’ inner sanctum to pray and commit the issue to divine care. At the moment Mario turned the key in the postern the outer gate gave way, and the rioters, with a yell of triumph, surged into the passage. Between them and the _Last Supper_ stood yet the refectory’s front door, and the sound of axes on this greeted Mario as he entered. The place was in deep gloom, relieved only by faint gleams that stole under the heavy curtains at the windows. To one of these he groped his way, threw back the hanging, and let in a stream of light that fell upon the picture but left the rest of the room in half darkness. He would have let in more light, but there was not time. The door came down, and the axemen, the women with torches, and all the vandal crew rushed into the house made sacred by a painter’s art. At the head of them was Red Errico--he who started the revolt in the Tarsis silk-mill. Before they saw the Narazene and the Twelve they beheld Mario standing in front of the picture--a mysterious figure at first sight, his bandaged forehead and upraised hand thrown into weird relief by the narrow shaft of light that played upon him from the window. It was an apparition that made Red Errico halt and checked for the moment the rush of those at his back. “Mario Forza!” the leader exclaimed, and the name passed from mouth to mouth, as those in the room moved nearer, pushed by the crowd behind. “Long live Mario Forza!” a stout-lunged carpenter shouted. “But down with the Supper!” “Well spoken! On, comrades! Down with it!” a dozen of them chimed in, and there was a general move toward the painting. “You have right on your side!” Mario proclaimed, in a voice sounding above the growl of the mob. “When you wish to pull down this work of Leonardo it is your right to do so, and no one may say no. You are the people, and the people must rule!” “Come on, then, let us rule!” the carpenter cried, raising his axe, ready to spring forward, but Red Errico pulled him back. “Wait!” he commanded. “Wait until the Honourable has spoken.” “Just a minute, men and women,” Mario went on. “Just a minute let us look at the picture before we blot it out forever. Let us have a last look at the face of that Blessed Workman at the middle of the table. You all know He was a carpenter, and let me tell you that He made as good a fight in His time to help the workingman as you are making to-day.” “Bravo!” the carpenter exclaimed, lowering his axe.