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Updated: June 20, 2025
The gondola may be still there. Tell Pasquale to call it over, and we will go directly. Go on! I will follow you." Giovanni went forward, and Beroviero stayed a moment to look again at the beautiful objects of white glass, examining them carefully, one by one. The workmanship was marvellous, and he could not help admiring it, but it was the glass itself that disturbed him.
Your daughter is so young her health is somewhat delicate " She was interrupted by a knock at the door, and Pasquale entered. "The Signor Giovanni is without, sir," said the porter. "He desires to take leave of you, as he is returning to his own house to-day." "Let him come in," said Beroviero, his face darkening all at once.
If you do not hear all, you cannot possibly understand." "I am listening," said old Beroviero, leaning back and laying his hands on the broad wooden arms of the chair. "I shall tell you everything, exactly as it happened," said Giovanni, "and I swear that it is all true." Beroviero reflected that in his experience this was usually the way in which liars introduced their accounts of events.
The young man selected his pieces of beech wood, laying them ready before the little opening just above the floor. "It is very strange," said Beroviero at last. "He seems to be a rich merchant now, but I am almost quite sure that I saw him in Naples." "Did you know him there, sir?" asked Zorzi. "No," answered his master thoughtfully.
As for the work, Zorzi knew quite well that there was not a glass-blower in Murano who could approach him either in taste or skill. Old Beroviero had told him so within the last few months, and he felt that it was true. He would have been neither a natural man nor a born artist if he had refused to sell the beaker, out of an exaggerated scruple.
He found Beroviero busy with his papers, and the results of the year's experiments, and the old man at once spoke to him as if nothing unusual had happened, telling him what to do from time to time, so that all might be put in order against the time when the fires should be lighted again in September.
"Yes, I would," answered Beroviero thoughtfully. "The book is there," said Marietta. She pointed to the big earthen jar that contained the broken glass, and her father's eyes followed her land. "It is for Zorzi's sake that I tell you," she continued. "The book is buried deep down amongst the broken bits. It will take a long time to get it out. Shall I call Pasquale to help us?"
I do not expect a good one, for none can have any weight. But I should like to hear the best you have." "It is a very convincing one to me," Marietta replied, still looking down at the table. "But I think I had better not tell it to you to-day," she added. "It would make you angry." "No," said Beroviero. "One cannot be angry with people who are really out of their senses."
Old Beroviero was sitting in the big chair in which he sometimes rested himself, his elbow on one of its arms, and his hand grasping his beard below his chin. "Zorzi," he said at last, "I have seen that man before." Zorzi looked at him, expecting more, but for some time Beroviero said nothing.
"Mine, Messer Jacopo!" returned Beroviero with equally well-feigned astonishment. Marietta had looked Contarini full in the face before she had time to draw her veil across her own. She stepped back and placed herself behind her father, protected as it were by their serving-man, who stood beside her with his staff.
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