Part 9 (1/2)
”Quickly, quickly!” he cried, quite unconscious that he was speaking.
There was no need of hurrying Zorzi. In two steps he had reached the table, and the white hot stuff spread out over the iron plate, instantly turning to a greenish yellow, then to a pale rose-colour, then to a deep and glowing red, as it felt the cool metal. The two men stood watching it closely, for it was thin and would soon cool. Zorzi was too wise to say anything. Beroviero's look of interest gradually turned into an expression of disappointment.
”Another failure,” he said, with a resignation which no one would have expected in such a man.
His practised eyes had guessed the exact hue of the gla.s.s, while it still lay on the iron, half cooled and far too hot to touch. Zorzi took a short rod and pushed the round sheet till a part of it was over the edge of the table.
”It is the best we have had yet,” he observed, looking at it.
”Is it?” asked Beroviero with little interest, and without giving the gla.s.s another glance. ”It is not what I am trying to get. It is the colour of wine, not of blood. Make something, Zorzi, while I write down the result of the experiment.”
He took big pen and the sheet of rough paper on which he had already noted the proportions of the materials, and he began to write, sitting at the large table before the open window. Zorzi took the long iron blow-pipe, cleaned it with a cloth and pushed the end through the orifice from which he had taken the specimen. He drew it back with a little lump of melted gla.s.s sticking to it.
Holding the blow-pipe to his lips, he blew a little, and the lump swelled, and he swung the pipe sharply in a circle, so that the gla.s.s lengthened to the shape of a pear, and he blew again and it grew. At the 'bocca' of the furnace he heated it, for it was cooling quickly; and he had his iron pontil ready, as there was no one to help him, and he easily performed the feat of taking a little hot gla.s.s on it from the pot and attaching it to the further end of the fast-cooling pear. If Beroviero had been watching him he would have been astonished at the skill with which the young man accomplished what it requires two persons to do; but Zorzi had tricks of his own, and the pontil supported itself on a board while he cracked the pear from the blow-pipe with a wet iron, as well as if a boy had held it in place for him; and then heating and reheating the piece, he fas.h.i.+oned it and cut it with tongs and shears, rolling the pontil on the flat arms of his stool with his left hand, and modelling the gla.s.s with his right, till at last he let it cool to its natural colour, holding it straight downward, and then swinging it slowly, so that it should fan itself in the air. It was a graceful calix now, of a deep wine red, clear and transparent as claret.
Zorzi turned to the window to show it to his master, not for the sake of the workmans.h.i.+p but of the colour. The old man's head was bent over his writing; Marietta was standing outside, and her eyes met Zorzi's. He did not blush as he had blushed yesterday, when he looked up from the fire and saw her; he merely inclined his head respectfully, to acknowledge her presence, and then he stood by the table waiting for the master to notice him, and not bestowing another glance on the young girl.
Beroviero turned to him at last. He was so used to Marietta's presence that he paid no attention to her.
”What is that thing?” he asked contemptuously.
”A specimen of the gla.s.s we tried,” answered the young man. ”I have blown it thin to show the colour.”
”A man who can have such execrable taste as to make a drinking-cup of coloured gla.s.s does not deserve to know as much as you do.”
”But it is very pretty,” said Marietta through the window, and bending forward she rested her white hands on the table, among the little heaps of chemicals. ”Anneal it, and give it to me,” she added.
”Keep such a thing in my house?” asked Beroviero scornfully. ”Break up that rubbis.h.!.+” he added roughly, speaking to Zorzi.
Without a word Zorzi smashed the calix off the iron into an old earthen jar already half full of broken gla.s.s. Then he put the pontil in its place and went to tend the fire. Marietta left the window and entered the room.
”Am I disturbing you?” she asked gently, as she stood by her father.
”No. I have finished writing.” He laid down his pen.
”Another failure?”
”Yes.”
”Perhaps I do not bring you good luck with your experiments,” suggested the girl, leaning down and looking over his shoulder at the crabbed writing, so that her cheek almost touched his. ”Is that why you wish to send me away?”
Beroviero turned in his chair, raised his heavy brows and looked up into her face, but said nothing.
”Nella has just told me that you have ordered my wedding gown,” continued Marietta.
”We are not alone,” said her father in a low voice.
”Zorzi probably knows what is the gossip of the house, and what I have been the last to hear,” answered the young girl. ”Besides, you trust him with all your secrets.”
”Yes, I trust him,” a.s.sented Beroviero. ”But these are private matters.”