corated on the back with classic Grecian figures. Rich women carried
such mirrors fastened to their girdles or sometimes instead had them
fitted into small, shallow boxes of carved ivory; sometimes too the
mirror was set in a case of gold, silver, enamel, or ebony with
intricate decoration on the outside. That was the first of
mirror-making."

"How curious!"

"Later the Venetians experimented and began backing pieces of glass
with mercury or tin. The surface was first covered with tinfoil and
then rubbed down until smooth; then the whole was coated with
quicksilver, which formed an amalgam with the tin. It does no harm to
tell you about it now, senorita," added Giusippe a little sadly, "for
every one knows. This process was slow and unsatisfactory, but it was
the best the workmen then knew. These mirrors they set in elaborate
frames of glass, silver, carved wood, mother-of-pearl, coral, tarsi, or
into frames of painted wood. Some of them were sent by Venetian nobles
as gifts to kings and queens of other countries; often they were
purchased by royalties themselves. You can see many in the museums of
France, Germany, or England."

"We will hunt them up, Jean," Uncle Bob declared.

"I'd love to see them," replied the girl.

"My father has told me that there were frequent quarrels between the
glass-makers and the mirror-framers because, you see, the framers
wanted to learn the secret of making the mirrors, and the mirror-makers
were jealous of the skill of the framers and feared the frame would be
more beautiful than the mirror itself and so overshadow it. Then in
1600 the French stole from our people the secret of mirror-making and
began turning out mirrors not only as good, but in some respects better
than the Venetian ones."

"Oh, Giusippe, how did they steal the secret?" Jean cried. "How
dreadful!"

"It was through the treachery of our own countrymen, senorita,"
Giusippe confessed. "Yes, sorry as I am to say so, it was our own
fault. The French, you see, as well as the Venetians, had long been
experimenting with glass-making and since it was considered there, as
here, an art, many penniless Huguenot gentlemen who had lost their
fortunes took it up; for one might be a glass-maker and still retain
his noble rank. Such was Bernard Palissy----"

"The potter!" interrupted Jean. "I learned all about him in my
history."

Giusippe nodded.

"So? Then you know how he struggled for years to solve the secret of
makin