He opened the paper and looked attentively at the contents.  Marietta saw his surprise and interest and took the opportunity of smiling at Zorzi.

“It is altogether different from mine,” said Beroviero, looking up and handing back the document.

“Is there fortune in that, sir, or not?” asked Zorzi, confident of the reply.  “But you know that there is, and that whenever I go, if I can get a furnace, I shall soon be a rich man by the glass alone, without even counting on such skill as I have with my hands.”

“It is true,” answered the master, nodding his head thoughtfully.  “There are many princes who would willingly give you the little you need in order to make your fortune.”

“The little that Venice refuses me!” said Zorzi with some bitterness.  “Am I presuming so much, then, when I ask you for your daughter’s hand?  Is it not in my power, or will it not be very soon, to go to some other city, to Milan, or Florence—­”

“No, no!” cried Beroviero.  “You shall not take her away—­”

He stopped short, realising that he had betrayed what had been in his mind, since he had seen the two standing there, clasped in one another’s arms, namely, that in spite of him, or with his blessing, his daughter would before long be married to the man she loved.

“Come, come!” he said testily.  “This is sheer nonsense!”

He made a step forward as if to break off the situation by going away.

“If you would rather that I should not leave you, sir,” said Zorzi, “I will stay here and make my glass in your furnace, and you shall sell it as if it were your own.”

“Yes, father, say yes!” cried Marietta, clasping her hands upon the old man’s shoulder.  “You see how generous Zorzi is!”

“Generous!” Beroviero shook his head.  “He is trying to bribe me, for there is a fortune in his glass, as he says.  He is offering me a fortune, I tell you, to let him marry you!”

“The fortune which Messer Jacopo had made you promise to pay him for condescending to be my husband!” retorted Marietta triumphantly.  “It seems to me that of the two, Zorzi is the better match!”

Beroviero stared at her a moment, bewildered.  Then, in half-comic despair he clapped both his hands upon his ears and shook himself gently free from her.

“Was there ever a woman yet who could not make black seem white?” he cried.  “It is nonsense, I tell you!  It is all arrant nonsense!  You are driving me out of my senses!”

And thereupon he went off down the garden path to the laboratory, apparently forgetting that his presence alone could prevent a repetition of that very offence which had at first roused his anger.  The door closed sharply after him, with energetic emphasis.

At the same moment Marietta, who had been gazing into Zorzi’s eyes, felt that her own sparkled with amusement, and her father might almost have heard her sweet low laugh through the open window at the other end of the garden.