“Of course not.  Any reasonable person would laugh at the idea that a girl in her senses should not be glad to marry Jacopo Contarini, especially after having seen him.  If she were not glad, she would not be in her senses, in other words she would not be sane, and should be treated as a lunatic, for her own good.  Would you let a lunatic do as he liked, if he tried to jump out of the window?  The mere thought is absurd.”

“Quite,” said Zorzi.

Sad as he was, he could almost have laughed at the old man’s inconsequent speeches.

“I am glad that you so heartily agree with me,” answered Beroviero in perfect sincerity.  “I do not mean to say that I would ask your opinion about my daughter’s marriage.  You would not expect that.  But I know that I can trust you, for we have worked together a long time, and I am used to hearing what you have to say.”

“You have always been very good to me,” replied Zorzi gratefully.

“You have always been faithful to me,” said the old man, laying his hand gently on Zorzi’s shoulder.  “I know what that means in this world.”

As soon as there was no question of opposing his despotic will, his kindly nature asserted itself, for he was a man subject to quick changes of humour, but in reality affectionate.

“I am going to trust you much more than hitherto,” he continued.  “My sons are grown men, independent of me, but willing to get from me all they can.  If they were true artists, if I could trust their taste, they should have had my secrets long ago.  But they are mere money-makers, and it is better that they should enrich themselves with the tasteless rubbish they make in their furnaces, than degrade our art by cheapening what should be rare and costly.  Am I right?”

“Indeed you are!” Zorzi now spoke in a tone of real conviction.

“If I thought you were really capable of making coloured drinking-cups like that abominable object you made this morning, with the idea that they could ever be used, you should not stay on Venetian soil a day,” resumed the old man energetically.  “You would be as bad as my sons, or worse.  Even they have enough sense to know that half the beauty of a cup, when it is used, lies in the colour of the wine itself, which must be seen through it.  But I forgive you, because you were only anxious to blow the glass thin, in order to show me the tint.  You know better.  That is why I mean to trust you in a very grave matter.”

Zorzi bent his head respectfully, but said nothing.

“I am obliged to make a journey before my daughter’s marriage takes place,” continued Beroviero.  “I shall entrust to you the manuscript secrets I possess.  They are in a sealed package so that you cannot read them, but they will be in your care.  If I leave them with any one else, my sons will try to get possession of them while I am away.  During my last journey I carried them with me, but I am growing old, life is uncertain, especially when a man is travelling, and I would rather leave the packet with you.  It will be safer.”