Beroviero looked towards the old porter indignantly, but Pasquale had already begun to move and was returning to his lodge, uttering strange and unearthly sounds as he went, for he was so happy that he was really trying to hum a tune.  The master turned to the lovers again.  Zorzi had withdrawn a step or two, but showed no signs of going further.

“If you are going to tell me that I must change my mind,” said Marietta, “and that it is a shame to love a penniless glass-blower—­”

“Silence!” cried the old man, stroking his beard fiercely.  “How can you presume to guess what I may or may not say about your shameless conduct?  Did I not see him kissing you?”

“I daresay, for he did,” answered Marietta, raising her eyebrows and looking down in a resigned way.  “And it is not the first time, either,” she added, shaking her head and almost laughing.

“The insolence!” cried Beroviero.  “The atrocious boldness!”

“Sir,” said Zorzi, coming nearer, “there is only one remedy for it.  Give me your daughter for my wife—­”

“Upon my faith, this is too much!  You know that Marietta is betrothed to Messer Jacopo Contarini—­”

“I have told you that I will not marry him,” said Marietta quietly, “so it is just as if I had never been betrothed to him.”

“That is no reason for marrying Zorzi,” retorted Beroviero.  “A pretty match for you!  Angelo Beroviero’s daughter and a penniless foreigner who cannot even be allowed to work openly at his art!”

“If I go away,” Zorzi answered quietly, “I may soon be as rich as you, sir.”

At this unexpected statement Beroviero opened his eyes in real astonishment, while Zorzi continued.

“You have your secrets, sir, and I have kept them safe for you.  But I have one of my own which is as valuable as any of yours.  Did you find some pieces of my work in the annealing oven?  I see that they are on the table now.  Did you notice that the glass is like yours, but finer and lighter?”

“Well, if it is, what then?” asked Beroviero.  “It was an accident.  You mixed something with some of my glass—­”

“No,” answered Zorzi, “it is altogether a composition of my own.  I do not know how you mix your materials.  How should I?”

“I believe you do,” said Beroviero.  “I believe you have found it out in some way—­”

Zorzi had produced a piece of folded paper from his doublet, and now held it up in his hand.

“I am not bargaining with you, sir, for you are a man of honour.  Angelo Beroviero will not rob me, after having been kind to me for so many years.  This is my secret, which I discovered alone, with no one’s help.  The quantities are written out very exactly, and I am sure of them.  Read what is written there.  By an accident, I may have made something like your glass, but I do not believe it.”

He held out the paper.  Beroviero’s manner changed.

“You were always an honourable fellow, Zorzi.  I thank you.”