“Set me free from Messer Jacopo, and you shall have it,” answered Marietta.

“No.  You shall marry him.”

“I will not.  But I will keep your book until you change your mind, or else—­but no!  If I gave it to Zorzi, he is so honourable that he would bring it back to you without so much as looking into it.  I will keep it for myself.  Or I will burn it!”

She felt that if she had been a man, she could not have taken such an unfair advantage of him; but she was a defenceless girl, fighting for the liberty of her whole life.  That might excuse much, she thought.  By this time Beroviero was very angry; he stalked up and down beside the furnace, trailing his thin silk gown behind him, stroking his beard with a quick, impatient movement, and easting fierce glances at Marietta from time to time.

He was not used to being at the mercy of circumstances, still less to having his mind made up for him by his son and his daughter.  Giovanni had made him believe that Zorzi had turned traitor and thief, after five years of faithful service, and the conviction had cut him to the quick; and now Marietta had demonstrated Zorzi’s innocence almost beyond doubt, but had made matters worse in other ways, and was taking the high hand with him.  He did not realise that from the moment when she had boldly confessed what she had done and had declared her love for Zorzi, his confidence in her had returned by quick degrees, and that the atrocious crime of having come secretly at night to the laboratory had become in his eyes, and perhaps against his will, a mere pardonable piece of rashness; since if Zorzi was innocent, anything which could save him from unjust imprisonment might well be forgiven.  He had borne what seemed to him very great misfortunes with fortitude and dignity; but his greatest treasures were safe, his daughter and Paolo Godi’s manuscript, and he became furiously angry with Marietta, because she had him in her power.

If a man is seated, a woman who intends to get the better of him generally stands; but if he loses his temper and begins to walk about, she immediately seats herself and assumes an exasperating calmness of manner.  Accordingly Marietta sat down on a small chair near the table and watched her father in silence, persuaded that he would be obliged to yield in the end.

“No one has ever dared to browbeat me in this way, in my whole life!” cried the old man fiercely, and his voice shook with rage.

“Will you listen to me?” asked Marietta with sudden meekness.

“Listen to you?” he repeated instantly.  “Have I not been listening to you for hours?”

“I do not know how long it may have been,” answered the girl, “but I have much more to say.  You are so angry that you will not hear me.”

“Angry?  I?  Are you telling me that I am so beside myself with rage, that I cannot understand reason?”

“I did not say that.”

“You meant it, then!  What did you say?  You have forgotten what you said already!  Just like a girl!  And you pretend to argue with me, with your own father!  It is beyond belief!  Silence, I say!  Do not answer me!”