er was for himself.

All that morning he revelled in the delight of working with the new
glass. A marvellous dish with upturned edge and ornamented foot was the
next thing he made, and he placed it at once in the annealing oven. Then
he made a tall drinking glass such as he had never made before, and
then, in contrast, a tiny ampulla, so small that he could almost hide it
in his hand, with its spout, yet decorated with all the perfection of a
larger piece. He worked on, careless of the time, his genius all alive,
the rest a distant dream.

He was putting the finishing touches to a beaker of a new shape when
the door opened, and Giovanni entered the laboratory. Zorzi was seated
on the working stool, the pontil in one hand, the 'porcello' in the
other. He glanced at Giovanni absently and went on, for it was the last
touch and the glass was cooling quickly.

"Still working, in this heat?" asked Giovanni, fanning himself with his
cap as was his custom.

There was a moment's silence. Then a sharp clicking sound and the beaker
fell finished into the soft ashes.

"Yes, I am still at work, as you see," answered Zorzi, not realising
that Giovanni would particularly notice what he was doing.

He rose with some difficulty and got his crutch under one arm. With a
forked stick he took the beaker from the ashes and placed it in the
annealing oven. Giovanni watched him, and when the broad iron door was
open, he saw the other pieces already standing inside on the iron tray.

"Admirable!" cried Giovanni. "You are a great artist, my dear Zorzi!
There is no one like you!"

"I do what I can," answered Zorzi, closing the door quickly, lest the
hot end of the oven should cool at all.

"I should say that you do what no one else can," returned Giovanni. "But
how lame you are! I had expected to find you walking as well as ever by
this time."

"I shall never walk again without limping."

"Oh, take courage!" said Giovanni, who seemed determined to be both
cheerful and flattering. "You will soon be as light on your feet as
ever. But it was a shocking accident."

He sat down in the big chair and Zorzi took the small one by the table,
wishing that he would go away.

"It is a pity that you had no white glass in the furnace on that
particular day," Giovanni continued. "You said you had none, if I
remember. How is it that you have it now? Have you changed one of the
crucibles?"

"Yes. One of the experiments succeeded so well that it s