Graziosa noticed them suddenly, in the midst of her dreaming, and was rising to get their evening meal, when the little painter, clean and reclothed, bustled out of the house, carrying a flat dish. "Here is thy food!" he cried to the birds. "Are ye hungry, little ones?" And he threw the grain in a golden shower. "Ambrogio is not here to see thee feed to-day," he continued. "What makes him late, Graziosa?" "The way is long," she returned, "from the convent where he works, father, and the monks grudge him any time away from the altar-piece." "And the bracelet?" said Agnolo. "He vowed thou shouldst have it back." "I wish he had not," said the girl in distress. "He will do something rash, I fear me. How can he get it back from the Visconti palace?" "He won't get it back," said the little painter cheerfully. "Even a lover would not be quite so mad as to beard the Visconti for a toy." "Yet he swore I should have it again. It was rash of me to tell him how I lost it," replied Graziosa. "Then he would have thought thou hadst given it to the stone-cutter next door, and there would have been high words, flashing eyes. 'Ha--ha--come out and be slain, thou varlet! Skulking dog, thou liest!' then swords out, and thou lying in a faint--or bewailing the day of thy birth. After that, thunder and lightning--gore--the brawlers driven into the street--the soldiers come up--and off we go to prison for disturbing the streets with our frays." "You jest too much, father," said Graziosa. "It may be serious if Ambrogio try to recover the bracelet." But a light knock on the outer door interrupted her, and with a heightened color she rose. "It is he, father!" she whispered. "I knew he would not fail us." Agnolo hurried forward and drew back the bolts, and truly enough Ambrogio entered. Graziosa's lover was of medium height, a slight man, with beautiful gray eyes. His attire was the plain garb of a student. To-day his right hand was hanging in a sling, while in the other he carried a roll of drawings. "Still alive!" said Agnolo pleasantly. "Graziosa was fearing thou hadst spitted thyself on Visconti's sword in the recovery of her bracelet." Ambrogio took little heed of the painter, but closing the door softly behind him, turned with a tender glance to Graziosa. "Wert thou grieving for me?" he said gently. "I am safe, my beautiful, and see, I have kept my word." As he spoke he drew out the emerald bracelet from his robe, and handed it with a smile to the girl who stood there, blushing with pleasure and astonishment. "Thou hast got it back," she cried; "from the Visconti palace!" Ambrogio smoothed her bright hair tenderly. "The bracelet was thine," he said, "therefore I went there for it, and have brought it back to thee, even from the Visconti palace." Agnolo was staring at him in amazement. "How didst thou do it!" he exclaimed. Ambrogio touched his bandaged arm with a smile.