“I should have very little respect for a man who betrayed his master’s secrets,” said Zorzi.

“You know them then?” inquired the other with unusual blandness.

“I did not say so.”  Zorzi looked at him coldly.

“Oh no!  Even to admit it might not be discreet.  But apart from Paolo Godi’s secrets, which my father has left sealed in my care—­”

At this astounding falsehood Zorzi started and looked at Giovanni in unfeigned surprise.

“—­but which nothing would induce me to examine,” continued Giovanni with perfect coolness, “there must be many others of my father’s own, which you have learned by watching him.  I respect you for your discretion.  Why did you start and look at me when I said that the manuscript was in my keeping?”

The question was well put, suddenly and without warning, and Zorzi was momentarily embarrassed to find an answer.  Giovanni judged that his surprise proved the truth of the boy’s story, and his embarrassment now added certainty to the proof.  But Zorzi rarely lost his self-possession when he had a secret to keep.

“If I seemed astonished,” he said, “it may have been because you had just given me the impression that the master did not trust you, and I know how careful he is of the manuscript.”

“You know more than that, my friend,” said Giovanni in a playful tone.

Zorzi had now filled the crucible and was replacing the clay rings which narrow the aperture of the ‘bocca.’  He plastered more wet clay upon them, and it pleased Giovanni to see how well he knew every detail of the art, from the simplest to the most difficult operations.

“Would anything you can think of induce you to leave my father?” Giovanni asked, as he had received no answer to his last remark.  “Of course, I do not mean to speak of mere money, though few people quite despise it.”

“That may be understood in more than one way,” answered Zorzi cautiously.  “In the first place, do you mean that if I left the master, it would be to go to another master, or to set up as a master myself?”

“Let us say that you might go to another glass-house for a fixed time, with the promise of then having a furnace of your own.  How does that strike you?”

“No one can give such a promise and keep it,” said Zorzi, scraping the wet clay from his hands with a blunt knife.

“But suppose that some one could,” insisted Giovanni.

“What is the use of supposing the impossible?” Zorzi shrugged his shoulders and went on scraping.

“Nothing is impossible in the Republic, except what the Ten are resolved to hinder.  And that is really impossible.”

“The Ten will not make new laws nor repeal old ones for the benefit of an unknown Dalmatian.”

“Perhaps not,” answered Giovanni.  “But on the other hand there is no very great penalty if you set up a furnace of your own.  If you are discovered, your furnace will be put out, and you may have to pay a fine.  It is no great matter.  It is a civil offence, not a criminal one.”