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"It was an accident, of course," replied Zorzi without hesitation. "If you knew that the man had injured you intentionally, you should have justice at once," said Giovanni. "As it is, I have no doubt that my father will turn him out without mercy." "I hope not." Zorzi would say nothing more. Giovanni rose to go away.
The Italian troubadours Bonifaci Calvo and Bartolomeo Zorzi were welcomed to his court, to which many others came from Provence. One of his favourites was the troubadour who was the last representative of the old school, Guiraut Riquier of Narbonne.
"Will you?" asked Giovanni, after waiting a few moments for an answer. "I would rather wait until the master comes back," said Zorzi doubtfully. "I am not quite sure about it." "I will take all the responsibility," Giovanni answered cheerfully. "Am I not free to come to my father's glass-house and buy a beaker or a dish for myself, if I please? Of course I am.
She was very intently bent on what she was saying, for he stayed there some time, scarcely breathing, before he turned away and disappeared in the shadows with noiseless steps. All through the long Sunday afternoon Zorzi sat in the laboratory alone. From time to time, he tended the fire, which must not be allowed to go down lest the quality of the glass should be injured, or at least changed.
"Any one could see that at once," Marietta answered. "Do you believe that Zorzi is innocent?" "I cannot help believing. But I do not understand. There is the red glass, made by dropping the piece of copper into it. That is in the book, I am sure." "It was an accident," said Marietta. "The copper ladle fell into the glass. Zorzi told me about it." "Are you sure? That is possible.
"We are not hangmen to torture a prisoner till he confesses," observed some one in a quiet and rather indolent tone. "Strangle him quickly and throw him into the canal. It is late already." "No," answered Contarini. "Let us at least see his face. We may know him. If you cry out," he said to Zorzi, "you will be killed instantly." "Jacopo is right," said some one who had not spoken yet.
The night light burned always in Nella's room, a tiny wick supported by a bit of split cork in an earthen cup of oil, most carefully tended, for if it went out, it could only be lighted by going down to the hall where a large lamp burned all night. Marietta laid her head upon the pillow and tried to sleep, repeating over and over again to herself that Zorzi was safe.
"By this patent the Supreme Council permits you to set up a glass-maker's furnace of your own in Murano, and confers upon you all the privileges of a born glass-blower, and promises you especial protection if any one shall attempt to interfere with your rights." Zorzi took the precious parchment eagerly, and he felt the hot blood rushing to his face as he tried to thank the secretary.
"In our seas, when we see the stump of a rainbow low down in the clouds, we say it is the eye of the wind, looking out for us, and I can tell you that the wind is never long in coming!" "Did you say anything to make him smile?" asked Zorzi, going on with his work. "I am not a mountebank," growled the porter.
But for Pasquale's reassuring words, Marietta felt that she must have gone mad. Zorzi was safe, somewhere, and he was not in the Governor's prison, on the straw. She told herself so again and again as Nella went on. "There is one thing I did not tell you," said the latter, with a sudden increase of vigour at the thought. "I think you have told me enough, Nella," said Marietta wearily.
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