Nella’s little brown eyes were moist as she recalled her husband’s small vanities; his dislike of tallow as a cosmetic seemed to affect her particularly.

“That is why I say that it will be a lesson to the pride of those Venetians to see your marriage,” she resumed, after drying her eyes with the back of her hand.  “And the people of Murano will be there, and all the glass-blowers in their guild, since the master is the head of it.  I suppose Zorzi will manage to be there, too.”

Nella spoke the last words in a tone of disapproval.

“Why should Zorzi not be at my wedding?” asked Marietta carelessly.

“Why should he?” asked the serving-woman with unusual bluntness.  “But I daresay the master will find something for him to do.  He is clever enough at doing anything.”

“Yes—­he is clever,” assented the young girl.  “Why do you not like him?  Give me some more water—­you are always afraid that I shall use too much!”

“I have a conscience,” grumbled Nella.  “The water is brought from far, it is paid for, it costs money, we must not use too much of it.  Every day the boats come with it, and the row of earthen jars in the court is filled, and your father pays—­he always pays, and pays, and pays, till I wonder where the money all comes from.  They say he makes gold, over there in the furnace.”

“He makes glass,” answered Marietta.  “And if he orders gowns for me with pearls and gold, he will not grudge me a jug of water.  Why do you dislike Zorzi?”

“He is as proud as a marble lion, and as obstinate as a Lombardy mule,” explained Nella, with fine imagery.  “If that is not enough to make one dislike a young man, you shall tell me so!  But one of those days he will fall.  There is trouble for the proud.”

“How does his great pride show itself?” asked Marietta.  “I have not noticed it.”

“That would indeed be the end of everything, if he showed his pride to you!” Nella was much displeased by the mere suggestion.  “But with us it is different.  He never speaks to the other workmen.”

“They never speak to him.”

“And quite right, too, since he holds his head so high, with no reason at all!  But it will not last for ever!  I wonder what the master would think, for instance, if he knew that Zorzi takes the skiff in the evening, and rows himself over to Venice, all alone, and comes back long after midnight, and sleeps in the glass-house across the way because he cannot get into the house.  Zorzi!  Zorzi!  The master cannot move without Zorzi!  And where is Zorzi at night?  At home and in bed, like a decent young man?  No.  Zorzi is away in Venice, heaven knows where, doing heaven knows what!  Do you wonder that he is so pale and tired in the morning?  It seems to me quite natural.  Eh?  What do you think, my pretty lady?”

Marietta was silent for a moment.  It was only a servant’s spiteful gossip, but it hurt her.