In one way or another the two were sure of gaining their end, as soon as they should have amassed a sufficient fortune to live in luxury somewhere in the far south.

A change in the situation was brought about by the appearance of Zuan Venier at the glass-house on the following morning.  Indolent, tired of his existence, sick of what amused and interested his companions, but generous, true and kind-hearted, he had been sorry to hear that Zorzi had suffered by an accident, and he felt impelled to go and see whether the young fellow needed help.  Venier did not remember that he had ever resisted an impulse in his life, though he took the greatest pains to hide the fact that he ever felt any.  He perhaps did not realise that although he had done many foolish things, and some that a confessor would not have approved, he had never wished to do anything that was mean, or unkind, or that might give him an unfair advantage over others.

He fancied Zorzi alone, uncared for, perhaps obliged to work in spite of his lameness, and it occurred to him that he might help him in some way, though it was by no means clear what direction his help should take.  He did not know that Beroviero was absent, and he intended to call for the old glass-maker.  It would be easy to say that he was an old friend of Jacopo Contarini and wished to make the acquaintance of Marietta’s father before the wedding.  He would probably have an opportunity of speaking to Zorzi without showing that he already knew him, and he trusted to Zorzi’s discretion to conceal the fact, for he was a good judge of men.

It turned out to be much easier to carry out his plan than he had expected.

“My name is Zuan Venier,” he said, in answer to Pasquale’s gruff inquiry.

Pasquale eyed him a moment through the bars, and immediately understood that he was not a person to be kicked into the canal or received with other similar amenities.  The great name alone would have awed the old porter to something like civility, but he had seen the visitor’s face, and being quite as good a judge of humanity as Venier himself, he opened the door at once.

Venier explained that he wished to pay his respects to Messer Angelo Beroviero, being an old friend of Messer Jacopo Contarini.  Learning that the master was absent on a journey, he asked whether there were any one within to whom he could deliver a message.  He had heard, he said, that the master had a trusted assistant, a certain Zorzi.  Pasquale answered that Zorzi was in the laboratory, and led the way.

Zorzi was greatly surprised, but as Venier had anticipated, he said nothing before Pasquale which could show that he had met his visitor before.  Venier made a courteous inclination of the head, and the porter disappeared immediately.

“I heard that you had been hurt,” said Venier, when they were alone.  “I came to see whether I could do anything for you.  Can I?”

Zorzi was touched by the kind words, spoken so quietly and sincerely, for it was only lately that any one except Marietta had shown him a little consideration.  He had not forgotten how his master had taken leave of him, and the unexpected friendliness of old Pasquale after his accident had made a difference in his life; but of all men he had ever met, Venier was the one whom he had instinctively desired for a friend.