The porter kept his word, and took good care of Zorzi. When the night
boys had come, he carried him into the inner room and put him to bed
like a child. Zorzi asked him to tell the boys to wake him at the
watches, as they had done on the previous night, and Pasquale humoured
him, but when he went away he wisely forgot to give the message, and the
lads, who knew that he had been hurt, supposed that he was not to be
disturbed. It was broad daylight when he awoke and saw Pasquale standing
beside him.

"Are the boys gone already?" he asked, almost as he opened his eyes.

"No, they are all asleep in a corner," answered the porter.

"Asleep!" cried Zorzi, in sudden anxiety. "Wake them, Pasquale, and see
whether the sand-glass has been turned and is running, and whether the
fire is burning. The young good-for-nothings!"

"I will wake them," answered Pasquale. "I supposed that they were
allowed to sleep after daylight."

A moment later Zorzi heard him apostrophising the three lads with his
usual vigour of language. Judging from the sounds that accompanied the
words he was encouraging their movements by other means also. Presently
one of the three set up a howl.

"Oh, you sons of snails and codfish, I will teach you!" growled
Pasquale; and he proceeded to teach them, till they were all three
howling at once.

Zorzi knew that they deserved a beating, but he was naturally
tender-hearted.

"Pasquale!" he called out. "Let them alone! Let them make up the fire!"

Pasquale came back, and the yells subsided.

"I have knocked their empty heads together," he observed. "They will not
sleep for a week. Yes, the sand-glass has run out, but the fire is not
very low. I will bring you water, and when you are dressed I will carry
you out into the laboratory."

The boys did not dare to go away till they had made up the fire. Then
they took themselves off, and as Pasquale let them out he treated them
to a final expression of his opinion. The tallest of the three was
bleeding from his nose, which had been brought into violent conjunction
with the skull of one of his companions. When the door was shut, and
they had gone a few steps along the footway, he stopped the others.

"We are glass-blowers' sons," he said, "and we have been beaten by that
swine of a porter. Let us be revenged on him. Even Zorzi would not have
dared to touch us, because he is a foreigner."

"We can do nothing," answered the smallest boy disconsolately. "If I
t