She thought of that morning in the garden, three days ago, when something she did not understand had been so near, just before disappearing for ever.  Then her throat tightened and she saw indistinctly, and her lips were suddenly dry.  After that, she remembered little of what happened on that evening, and by and by she was alone in her own room without a light, standing at the open window with bare feet on the cold pavement, and the night breeze stirred her hair and brought her the scent of the rosemary and lavender, while she tried to listen to the stars, as if they were speaking to her, and lost herself in her thoughts for a few moments before going to sleep.

Zorzi was still sitting in the big chair against the wall when he heard a footstep in the garden, and as he rose to look out Beroviero entered.  The master was wrapped in a long cloak that covered something which he was carrying.  There was no lamp in the laboratory, but the three fierce eyes of the furnace shed a low red glare in different directions.  Beroviero had given orders that the night boys should not come until he sent for them.

“I thought it wiser to bring this over at night,” he said, setting a small iron box on the table.

It contained the secrets of Paolo Godi, which were worth a great fortune in those times.

“Of all my possessions,” said the old man, laying his hands upon the casket, “these are the most valuable.  I will not hide them alone, as I might, because if any harm befell me they would be lost, and might be found by some unworthy person.”

“Could you not leave them with some one else, sir?” asked Zorzi.

“No.  I trust no one else.  Let us hide them together to-night, for to-morrow I must leave Venice.  Take up one of the large flagstones behind the annealing oven, and dig a hole underneath it in the ground.  The place will be quite dry, from the heat of the oven.”

Zorzi lit a lamp with a splinter of wood which he thrust into the ‘bocca’ of the furnace; he took a small crowbar from the corner and set to work.  The laboratory contained all sorts of builder’s tools, used when the furnace needed repairing.  He raised one of the slabs with difficulty, turned it over, propped it with a billet of beech wood, and began to scoop out a hole in the hard earth, using a mason’s trowel.  Beroviero watched him, holding the box in his hands.

“The lock is not very good,” he said, “but I thought the box might keep the packet from dampness.”

“Is the packet properly sealed?” asked Zorzi, looking up.

“You shall see,” answered the master, and he set down the box beside the lamp, on the broad stone at the mouth of the annealing oven.  “It is better that you should see for yourself.”

He unlocked the box and took out what seemed to be a small book, carefully tied up in a sheet of parchment.  The ends of the silk cord below the knot were pinched in a broad red seal.  Zorzi examined the wax.