he ached from his work and felt scorched by the heat of the furnace. For
he was not very strong of limb, though he was quick with his hands and
of a very tenacious nature, able to endure pain as well as weariness
when he was determined to finish what he had begun. But while Marietta
was in the laboratory, nothing could tire him nor hurt him, nor make him
wish that the hours were less long. He thought therefore of what must
happen to him if Jacopo Contarini took Marietta away from Murano to live
in a palace in Venice, and he determined at least to find out what sort
of man this might be who was to receive for his own the only woman in
the world for whose sake it would be perfect happiness to be burned with
slow fire. He did not mean to do Contarini any harm. Perhaps Marietta
already loved the man, and was glad she was to marry him. No one could
have told what she felt, even from that one flashing look she had given
her father. Zorzi did not try to understand her yet; he only loved her,
and she was his master's daughter, and if his master found out his
secret it would be a very evil day for him. So he poked the fire with
his iron rod, and set his teeth, and said nothing, while old Beroviero
moved about the room.

"Zorzi," said the master presently, "I meant you to hear what I said to
my daughter."

"I heard, sir," answered the young man, rising respectfully, and waiting
for more.

"Remember the name you heard," said Beroviero.

If the matter had been any other in the world, Zorzi would have smiled
at the master's words, because they bade him do just what Marietta had
forbidden. The one said "forget," the other "remember." For the first