and
hotter, and the order had been given to let the main furnaces cool after
the following Saturday, as the workmen could not bear the heat many days
longer. After that, they would set to work in a shed at the back of the
glass-house to knead the clay for making new crucibles, and the night
boys would enjoy their annual holiday, which consisted in helping the
workmen by treading the stiff clay in water for several hours every day.

A man's shadow darkened the window while Zorzi was writing, and he
looked up. Pasquale was standing outside.

"There is a pestering fellow at the door," he said, "who will not be
satisfied till he has spoken with you. He says he has a message for you
from some one in Venice, which he must deliver himself."

"For me?" Zorzi rose in surprise.

CHAPTER XIII

Zorzi swung himself along the dark corridor on his crutches after
Pasquale, who opened the outer door with his usual deliberation. A
little man stood outside in grey hose and a servant's dark coat,
gathered in at the waist by a leathern belt. He was clean shaven and his
hair was cropped close to his head, which was bare, for he held his
black hat in his hand. Zorzi did not like his face. He waited for Zorzi
to speak first.

"Have you a message for me?" asked the Dalmatian. "I am Zorzi."

"That is the name, sir," answered the man respectfully. "My master begs
the honour and pleasure of your company this evening, as usual."

"Where?" asked Zorzi.

"My master said that you would know the place, sir, having been there
before."

"What is your master's name?"

"The Angel," answered the man promptly, keeping his eyes on Zorzi's
face.

The latter nodded, and the servant at once made an awkward obeisance
preparatory to going away.

"Tell your master," said Zorzi, "that I have hurt my foot and am walking
on crutches, so that I cannot come this evening, but that I thank him
for his invitation, and send greeting to him and to the other guests."

The man repeated some of the words in a tone hardly audible, evidently
committing the message to memory.

"Signor Zorzi--hurt his foot--crutches--thanks--greeting," he mumbled.
"Yes, sir," he added in his ordinary voice, "I will say all that. Your
servant, sir."

With another awkward bow, he turned away to the right and walked very
quickly along the footway. He had left his boat at the entrance to the
canal, not knowing exactly where the glass-house was. Zorzi looked after
him a mo