"It seems to be in order," said Venier, politely smothering with his
gloved hand the beginning of a yawn.

"I owe it to you, I am sure," answered Zorzi, turning grateful eyes to
him.

"No, I assure you," said the patrician. "But I daresay it has made us
all change our opinion of the Ten," he added with a smile. "Good-bye.
Let me come and see you at work at your own furnace before long. I have
always wished to see glass blown."

Without waiting for more, he walked quickly away, waving his hand after
he had already turned.

It was noon when Zorzi had folded his patent carefully and hidden it in
his bosom, and he and Beroviero and Pasquale went out of the busy
gateway under the outer portico. Beroviero led the way to the right, and
they passed Saint Mark's in the blazing sun, and the Patriarch's palace,
and came to the shady landing, the very one at which the old man and his
daughter had got out when they had come to the church to meet Contarini.
The gondola was waiting there, and Beroviero pushed Zorzi gently before
him.

"You are still lame," he said. "Get in first and sit down."

But Zorzi drew back, for a woman's hand was suddenly thrust out of the
little window of the 'felse,' with a quick gesture.

"There is a lady inside," said Zorzi.

"Marietta is in the gondola," answered Beroviero with a smile. "She
would not stay at home. But there is room for us all. Get in, my son."

NOTE

The story of Zorzi Ballarin and Marietta Beroviero is not mere fiction,
and is told in several ways. The most common account of the
circumstances assumes that Zorzi actually stole the secrets which Angelo
Beroviero had received from Paolo Godi, and thereby forced Angelo to
give him his daughter in marriage; but the learned Comm. C.A. Levi,
director of the museum in Murano, where many works of Beroviero and
Ballarin are preserved, has established the latter's reputation for
honourable dealing with regard to the precious secrets, in a pamphlet
entitled "L'Arte del Vetro in Murano," published in Venice, in 1895, to
which I beg to refer the curious reader. I have used a novelist's
privilege in writing a story which does not pretend to be historical. I
have taken eleven years from the date on which Giovanni Beroviero wrote
his letter to the Podesta of Murano, and the letter itself, though
similar in spirit to the original, is differently worded and covers
somewhat different ground; I have also represented Zorzi as standing