her, and then Zorzi fancied that they were like sapphires, but before he
could be sure, the lids and lashes shaded them again, and he only knew
that they were there, and longed to see them, for her father had spoken
of her marriage, and she had not answered a single word.

When they were alone together for a moment, while the old man was
searching for more materials in the next room, she spoke to Zorzi.

"My father did not mean you to hear that," she said.

"Nevertheless, I heard," answered Zorzi, pushing a small piece of beech
wood into the fire through a narrow slit on one side of the brick
furnace. "It was not my fault."

"Forget that you heard it," said Marietta quietly, and as her father
entered the room again she passed him and went out into the garden.

But Zorzi did not even try to forget the name of the man whom Beroviero
appeared to have chosen for his daughter. He tried instead, to
understand why Marietta wished him not to remember that the name was
Jacopo Contarini. He glanced sideways at the girl's figure as she
disappeared through the door, and he thoughtfully pushed another piece
of wood into the fire. Some day, perhaps before long, she would marry
this man who had been mentioned, and then Zorzi would be alone with old
Beroviero in the laboratory. He set his teeth, and poked the fire with,
an iron rod.

It happened now and then that Marietta did not come to the glass-house.
Those days were long, and when night came Zorzi felt as if his heart
were turning into a hot stone in his breast, and his sight was dull, and