In the morning, when he left the house to begin his journey, Zorzi stood by the steps with the servant to steady the gondola for him.  His horses were to be in waiting in Venice, whence he was to go over to the mainland.  He nodded to the young man carelessly, but said nothing, and no one would have guessed how kindly he had spoken to him on the previous night.  Giovanni Beroviero took ceremonious leave of his father, his cap in his hand, bending low, a lean man, twenty years older than Marietta, with an insignificant brow and clean-shaven, pointed jaw and greedy lips.  Marietta stood within the shadow of the doorway, very pale.  Nella was beside her, and Giovanni’s wife, and further in, at a respectful distance, the serving-people, for the master’s departure was an event of importance.

The gondola pushed off when Beroviero had disappeared under the ‘felse’ with a final wave of the hand.  Zorzi stood still, looking after his master, and Marietta came forward to the doorstep and pretended to watch the gondola also.  Zorzi was the first to turn, and their eyes met.  He had not expected to see her still there, and he started a little.  Giovanni looked at him coldly.

“You had better go to your work,” he said in a sour tone.  “I suppose my father has told you what to do.”

The young artist flushed, but answered quietly enough.

“I am going to my work,” he said.  “I need no urging.”

Before he put on his cap, he bent his head to Marietta; then he passed on towards the bridge.

“That fellow is growing insolent,” said Giovanni to his sister, but he was careful that Zorzi should not hear the words.  “I think I shall advise our father to turn him out.”

Marietta looked at her brother with something like contempt.

“Since when has our father consulted you, or taken your advice?” she asked.

“I presume he takes yours,” retorted Giovanni, regretting that he could not instantly find a sharper answer, for he was not quick-witted though he was suspicious.

“He needs neither yours nor mine,” said Marietta, “and he trusts whom he pleases.”

“You seem inclined to defend his servants when they are insolent,” answered Giovanni.

“For that matter, Zorzi is quite able to defend himself!” She turned her back on her brother and went towards the stairs, taking Nella with her.

Giovanni glanced at her with annoyance and walked along the footway in the direction of his own glass-house, glad to go back to a place where he was absolute despot.  But he had been really surprised that Marietta should boldly take the Dalmatian’s side against him, and his narrow brain brooded upon the unexpected circumstance.  Besides the dislike he felt for the young artist, his small pride resented the thought that his sister, who was to marry a Contarini, should condescend to the defence of a servant.