"Well! Was not my husband a Venetian, blessed soul? It seems to me that
I should know. Have I forgotten how he would fasten a cock's feather in
his cap, almost like a gentleman, and hang his cloak over one shoulder,
and pull up his hose till they almost cracked, so as to show off his
leg? Ah, he had handsome legs, my poor Vito, and he never would use
anything but pure beeswax to stiffen his mustaches. No, he never would
use tallow. He was almost like a gentleman!"

Nella's little brown eyes were moist as she recalled her husband's small
vanities; his dislike of tallow as a cosmetic seemed to affect her
particularly.

"That is why I say that it will be a lesson to the pride of those
Venetians to see your marriage," she resumed, after drying her eyes with
the back of her hand. "And the people of Murano will be there, and all
the glass-blowers in their guild, since the master is the head of it. I
suppose Zorzi will manage to be there, too."

Nella spoke the last words in a tone of disapproval.

"Why should Zorzi not be at my wedding?" asked Marietta carelessly.

"Why should he?" asked the serving-woman with unusual bluntness. "But I
daresay the master will find something for him to do. He is clever
enough at doing anything."

"Yes--he is clever," assented the young girl. "Why do you not like him?
Give me some more water--you are always afraid that I shall use too
much!"