It was over at last, and Zorzi stood alone by the table, for Marietta would not let him go with her to the door.  She could not trust herself before Pasquale, even in the gloom.  He stood by the table, leaning on it heavily with one hand, and trying to realise all that had come into his lonely life within the half hour, and all that might happen to him before morning.  The glorious and triumphant certainty which first love brings to every man when it is first returned, still swelled his heart and filled the air he breathed, so that while breathing deep, he could not breathe enough.  In such a mood all dangers dwindled, all obstacles sank out of sight as shadows sink at dawn.  And yet the parting had hurt him, as if his body had been wrenched in the middle by some resistless force.

Women feel parting differently.  Shall we men ever understand them?  To a man, first love is a victory, to a girl it is a sweet wonder, and a joy, and a tender longing, all in one.  And when partings come, as come they must in life until death brings the last, it is always the man who leaves, and the woman who is left, even though in plain fact it be the man that stays behind; and we men feel a little contemptuous pity for one who seems to cry out after the woman he loves, asking why she has left him, and beseeching her to come back to him, but our compassion for the woman in like case is always sincere.  In such small things there are the great mysteries of that prime difference, which neither man nor woman can ever fully understand, but which, if not understood a little, is the cause of much miserable misunderstanding in life.

Zorzi had to face the future at once, for it was upon him, and the old life was over, perhaps never to come again.  He stood still, where he was, for any useless movement was an effort, and he tried to collect his thoughts and determine just what he should do, and how it was to be done.  His eye fell on the piece of gold Giovanni had paid for the beaker.  In the morning, if he drew the iron tray further down the annealing oven, the glass would be ready to be taken out, and Giovanni could take it if he pleased, for he knew whose it was.  But starvation itself could not have induced Zorzi to take the money now.  He turned from it with contempt.  All he needed was enough to buy bread for a week, and mere bread cost little.  That little he had, and it must suffice.  Besides that he would make a bundle small enough to be easily carried.  His chief difficulty would be in rowing the skiff.  To use the single oar at all it was almost indispensable to stand, and to stand chiefly on the right foot, since the single rowlock, as in every Venetian boat, was on the starboard side and could not be shifted to port.  He fancied that in some way he could manage to sit on the thwart, and use the oar as a paddle.  In any case he must get away, since flight was the wisest course, and since he had promised Marietta that he would go.  His reflections had occupied scarce half a minute.