A little more than an hour later, the gondola came back and stopped
alongside the steps of the house. The gondolier had made such haste to
obey the summons that he had not thought of going into the house to give
the servants warning, and as most of the shutters were already drawn
together against the heat, no one had been looking out when he went
away. He had asked Pasquale to tell the young master, and that was all
that could be expected of him. There was therefore great surprise in the
household when Angelo Beroviero went up the steps of his house, and his
own astonishment that no one should be there to receive him was almost
as great. The gondolier explained, and told him what Pasquale had said.
It was enough to rouse the old man's suspicions at once. He had left
Zorzi in charge of the laboratory, enjoining upon him not to encourage
Giovanni to go there; but now Giovanni was shut up there, presumably
with Zorzi, and had given orders that he was not to be disturbed. The
gondolier had not dared to say anything about the Dalmatian's arrest,
and Beroviero was quite ignorant of all that had happened. He was not a
man who hesitated when his suspicions or his temper were at work, and
now he turned, without even entering his home, and crossed the bridge
to the glass-house. Pasquale was looking through the grating and saw him
coming, and was ready to receive him at the open door. For the third
time on that morning, he grinned from ear to ear. Beroviero was pleased
by the silent welcome of his old and trusted servant.
"You seem glad to see me again," he said, laying his hand kindly on the
old porter's arm as he passed in.
"Others will be glad, too," was the answer.
As he went down the corridor Beroviero heard the sound of spades
striking into the earth and shovelling it away. The gardener and his lad
had been at work nearly two hours, and had turned up most of the earth
in the little flower-beds to a depth of two or three feet during that
time, while Giovanni sat motionless under the plane-tree, watching every
movement of their spades. He rose nervously when he heard footsteps in
the corridor, for he did not wish any one to find him seated there,
apparently watching a most commonplace operation with profound interest.
He had made a step towards the door of the laboratory, when he saw his
father emerge from the dark passage. He was a coward, and he trembled
from head to foot, his teeth chattered in his head, and the cold sweat
moistened his forehead in an instant. The old man stood still four or
five paces from him and looked from him to the men who had been digging.
On seeing the master they stopped working and pulled off their knitted
caps. As a further sign of respect they wiped their dripping faces with
their shirt sleeves.
"What are you doing here?" asked Beroviero in a tone of displeasure.
"The garden was very well as it was."
"I--I thought," stammered Giovanni, "that it would--that it might be
better to dig it--"
"It would not be better," answered the old man. "You may go," he added,
speaking to the men, who were glad enough to be dismissed.
Beroviero passed his son without further words and tried the door of the
laboratory, but found it locked.
"What is this?" he asked angrily. "Where is Zorzi? I told him not to
leave you here alone."
"You had great confidence in him," answered Giovanni, recovering himself
a little. "He is in prison."
He took the key from his wallet and thrust it into the lock as he spoke.
"In prison!" cried Beroviero in a loud voice. "What do you mean?"
Giovanni held the door open for him.
"I will tell you all about Zorzi, if you will come in," he said.
Beroviero entered, stood still a moment and looked about. Everything was
as Zorzi had left it, but the glass-maker's ear missed the low roar of
the furnace. Instinctively he made a step towards the latter, extending
his hand to see whether it was already cold, but at that moment he
caught sight of the silk mantle in the chair. He glanced quickly at his
son.
"Has Marietta been here with you this morning?" he asked sharply.
"Oh no!" answered Giovanni contemptuously. "Zorzi stole that thing and
had not time to hide it when they arrested him last night. I left it
just where it was, that the Governor might see it."
Beroviero's face changed slowly. His fiery brown eyes began to show a
dangerous light and he stroked his long beard quickly, twisting it a
little each time.
"If you say that Zorzi stole Marietta's silk mantle," he said slowly,
"you are either a fool or a liar."
"You are my father," answered Giovanni in some perturbation. "I cannot
answer you."
Beroviero was silent for a long time. He took the mantle from the chair,
examined it and assured himself that it was Marietta's own and no other.
Then he carefully folded it up and laid it on the bench. His brows were
contracted as if he were in great pain, and his face was pale, but his
eyes were still angry.
Giovanni knew the signs of his father's wrath and dared not speak to him
yet..
"Is this the evidence on which you have had my man arrested?" asked
Beroviero, sitting down in the big chair and fixing his gaze on his son.
"By no means," answered Giovanni, with all the coolness he could
command. "If it pleases you to hear my story from the beginning I will
tell you all. If you do not hear all, you cannot possibly understand."
"I am listening," said old Beroviero, leaning back and laying his hands
on the broad wooden arms of the chair.
"I shall tell you everything, exactly as it happened," said Giovanni,
"and I swear that it is all true."
Beroviero reflected that in his experience this was usually the way in
which liars introduced their accounts of events. For truth is like a
work of genius: it carries conviction with it at once, and therefore
needs no recommendation, nor other artificial support.
"After you left," Giovanni continued, "I came here one morning, out of
pure friendliness to Zorzi, and as we talked I chanced to look at those
things on the shelf. When I admired them, he admitted rather reluctantly
that he had made them, and other things which you have in your house."
Beroviero gravely nodded his assent to the statement.
"I asked him to make me something," Giovanni went on to say, "but he
told me that he had no white glass in the furnace, and that what was
there was the result of your experiments."
Again Beroviero bent his head.
"So I asked him to bring his blow-pipe to the main furnace room, where
they were still working at that time, and we went there together. He at
once made a very beautiful piece, and was just finishing it when a bad
accident happened to him. Another man let his blow-pipe fly from his
hand and it fell upon Zorzi's foot with a large lump of hot glass."
Beroviero looked keenly at Giovanni.
"You know as well as I that it could not have been an accident," he
said. "It was done out of spite."
"That may be," replied Giovanni, "for the men do not like him, as you
know. But Zorzi accepted it as being an accident, and said so. He was
badly hurt, and is still lame. Nella dressed the wound, and then
Marietta came with her."
"Are you sure Marietta came here?" asked Beroviero, growing paler.
"Quite sure. They were on their way here together early in the morning
when I stopped them, and asked Marietta where she was going, and she
boldly said she was going to see Zorzi. I could not prevent her, and I
saw them both go in."
"Do you mean to say that although Zorzi was so badly hurt you did not
have him brought to the house?"
"Of course I proposed that at once," Giovanni answered. "But he said
that he would not leave the furnace."
"That was like him," said old Beroviero.
"He knew what he was doing. It was on that same day that a night boy
told me how he had seen you and Zorzi burying something in the
laboratory the night before you left."
Beroviero started and leaned forward. Giovanni smiled thoughtfully, for
he saw how his father was moved, and he knew that the strongest part of
his story was yet untold.
"It would have been better to leave Paolo Godi's manuscript with me," he
said, in a tone of sympathy. "I grew anxious for its safety as soon as I
knew that Zorzi had charge of it. Yesterday morning I came in again.
Zorzi was sitting on the working-stool, finishing a beautiful beaker of
white glass."
"White glass?" repeated Beroviero in evident surprise. "White glass?
Here?"
"Yes," answered Giovanni, enjoying his triumph. "I pointed out that when
I had last come, there had been no white glass in the furnace. He
answered that as one of the experiments had produced a beautiful red
colour which he thought must be valuable, he had removed the crucible.
He also showed me a specimen of it."
"Is it here?" asked Beroviero anxiously. "Where is it?"
Giovanni took the specimen from the table, for Zorzi had left it lying
there, and he handed it to his father. The latter took it, held it up to
the light, and uttered an exclamation of astonishment and anger.
"There is only one way of making that," he said, without hesitation.
"Yes," Giovanni answered coolly. "I supposed it was made according to
one of your secrets."
A quick look was the only reply to this speech. Giovanni continued.
"I asked him to sell me the piece of glass he had been making when he
came in, and at first he pretended that he was not sure whether you
would allow it, but at last he took a piece of gold for it, and I was to
have it as soon as it was annealed. When you see it, you will understand
why I was so anxious to get it."
"Where is it?" asked the old man. "Show it to me."
Giovanni went to the other end of the annealing oven, and came back a
moment later carrying the iron tray on which stood the pieces Zorzi had
made on the previous morning. Beroviero looked at them critically, tried
their weight, and noticed their transparency.
"That is not my glass," he said in a tone of decision.
"No," said Giovanni, "I saw that it was not your ordinary glass. It
seems much better. Now Zorzi must have made it in a new crucible, and if
he did, he made it with some secret of yours, for it is impossible that
he should have discovered it himself. I said to myself that if he had
made it, and the red glass there, he must have opened the book which you
had buried together in this room, and that there was only one way of
hindering him from learning everything in it, and ruining you and us by
setting up a furnace of his own."
Beroviero was looking hard at Giovanni, but he was now thoroughly
alarmed for the safety of his treasured manuscript, and listened with
attention and without any hostility. The proofs seemed at first sight
very strong, and after all Zorzi was only a Dalmatian and a foreigner,
who might have yielded to temptation.
"What did you do?" asked Beroviero.
Giovanni told him the truth, how he had written a letter to the
Governor, and had seen him in person, as well as Jacopo Contarini.
"Of course," Giovanni concluded, "you know best. If you find the book
as you and he hid it together, he must have learned your secrets in some
other way."
"We can easily see," answered old Beroviero, rising quickly. "Come here.
Get the crowbar from the corner, and help me to lift the stone."
Giovanni took pains to look for the crowbar exactly where it was not,
for he thought that this would divert any lingering suspicion from
himself, but Beroviero was only annoyed.
"There, there!" he cried, pointing. "It is in that corner. Quickly!"
"It would be like the clever scoundrel to have copied what he wanted and
then to have put the book back into the hiding-place," said Giovanni,
pausing.
"Do not waste words, my son!" cried Beroviero in the greatest anxiety.
"Here! This is the stone. Get the crowbar in at this side. So. Now we
will both heave. There! Wedge the stone up with that bit of wood. That
will do. Now let us both get our hands under it, and lift it up."
It was done, while he was speaking. A moment later Giovanni had scooped
out the loose earth, and Beroviero was staring down into the empty hole,
just as Giovanni had done on the previous night. Giovanni was almost
consoled for his own disappointment when he saw his father's face.
"It is certainly gone," he said. "You did not bury it deeper, did you?
The soil is hard below."
"No, no! It is gone!" answered the old man in a dull voice. "Zorzi has
got it."
"You see," said Giovanni mercilessly, "when I saw the red and white
glass which he had made himself I was so sure of the truth that I acted
quickly. I saw him arrested, and I do not think he could have had
anything like a book with him, for he was in his doublet and hose. And
as he is safe in prison now, he can be made to tell where he has put the
thing. How big was it?"
"It was in an iron box. It was heavy." Beroviero spoke in low tones,
overcome by his loss, and by the apparent certainty that Zorzi had
betrayed him.
"You see why I should naturally suspect him of having stolen the
mantle," observed Giovanni. "A man who would betray your confidence in
such a way would do anything."
"Yes, yes," answered the old master vaguely. "Yes--I must go and see him
in prison. I was kind to him, and perhaps he may confess everything to
me."
"We might ask Marietta when she first missed her mantle," suggested
Giovanni. "She must have noticed that it was gone."
"She will not remember," answered Beroviero. "Let us go to the
Governor's house at once. There is just time before mid-day. We can
speak to Marietta at dinner."
"But you must be tired, after your journey," objected Giovanni, with
unusual concern for his father's comfort.
"No. I slept well on the ship. I have done nothing to tire me. The
gondola may be still there. Tell Pasquale to call it over, and we will
go directly. Go on! I will follow you."
Giovanni went forward, and Beroviero stayed a moment to look again at
the beautiful objects of white glass, examining them carefully, one by
one. The workmanship was marvellous, and he could not help admiring it,
but it was the glass itself that disturbed him. It was like his own, but
it was better, and the knowledge of its composition and treatment was a
fortune. Then, too, the secret of dropping a piece of copper into a
certain mixture in order to produce a particularly beautiful red colour
was in the book, and the colour could not be mistaken and was not the
one which Beroviero had been trying to produce. He shook his head sadly
as he went out and locked the door behind him, convinced against his
will that he had been betrayed by the man whom he had most trusted in
the world.
Pasquale watched the two, father and son, as they got into the gondola.
Old Beroviero had not even looked at him as he came out, and it was not
the porter's business to volunteer information, nor the gondolier's
either. But when the latter was ordered to row to the Governor's house
as fast as possible, he turned his head and looked at Pasquale, who
slowly nodded his ugly head before going in again.
On reaching their destination they were received at once, and the
Governor told them what had happened, in as few words as possible.
Nothing could exceed old Beroviero's consternation, and his son's
disappointment. Zorzi had been rescued at the corner of San Piero's
church by men who had knocked senseless the officer and the six archers.
No one knew who these men were, nor their numbers, but they were clearly
friends of Zorzi's who had known that he was to be arrested.
"Accomplices," suggested Giovanni. "He has stolen a valuable book of my
father's, containing secrets for making the finest glass. By this time
he is on his way to Milan, or Florence."
"I daresay," said the Governor. "These foreigners are capable of
anything."
"I had trusted him so confidently," said Beroviero, too much overcome to
be angry.
"Exactly," answered the Governor. "You trusted him too much."
"I always thought so," put in Giovanni wisely.
"There is nothing to be said," resumed Beroviero. "I do not wish to
believe it of him, but I cannot deny the evidence of my own senses."
"I have already sent a report to the Council of Ten," said the Governor.
"The most careful search will be made in Venice for Zorzi and his
companions, and if they are found, they will suffer for what they have
done."
"I hope so!" replied Giovanni heartily.
"I remember that you recommended me to send a strong force," observed
the Governor. "Perhaps you knew that a rescue was intended. Or you were
aware that the fellow had daring accomplices."
"I only suspected it," Giovanni answered. "I knew nothing. He was always
alone."
"He has hardly been out of my sight for five years," said old Beroviero
sadly.
He and his son took their leave, the Governor promising to keep them
informed as to the progress of the search. At present nothing more could
be done, for Zorzi has disappeared altogether, and old Beroviero was
much inclined to share his son's opinion that the fugitive was already
on his way to Milan, or Florence, where the possession of the secrets
would insure him a large fortune, very greatly to the injury of
Beroviero and all the glass-workers of Murano. The two men returned to
the house in silence, for the elder was too much absorbed by his own
thoughts to speak, and Giovanni was too wise to interrupt reflections
which undoubtedly tended to Zorzi's destruction.
Marietta was awaiting her father's return with much anxiety, for every
one knew that the master had gone first to the laboratory and then to
the Governor's palace, with Giovanni, so that the two must have been
talking together a long time. Marietta waited with her sister-in-law in
the lower hall, slowly walking up and down.
When her father came up the low steps at last, she went forward to meet
him, and a glance told her that he was in the most extreme anxiety. She
took his hand and kissed it, in the customary manner, and he bent a
little and touched her forehead with his lips. Then, to her surprise, he
put one hand under her chin, and laid the other on the top of her head,
and with gentle force made her look at him. Giovanni's wife was there,
and most of the servants were standing near the foot of the staircase to
welcome their master.
Beroviero said nothing as he gazed into his daughter's eyes. They met
his own fearlessly enough, and she opened them wide, as she rarely did,
as if to show that she had nothing to conceal; but while he looked at
her the blood rose blushing in her cheeks, telling that there was
something to hide after all, and as she would not turn her eyes from
his, they sparkled a little with vexation. Beroviero did not speak, but
he let her go and went on towards the stairs, bending his head
graciously to the other persons who were assembled to greet him.
He was a man of strong character and of much natural dignity, far too
proud to break down under a great loss or a bitter disappointment, and
at dinner he sat at the head of the table and spoke affably of the
journey he had made, explaining his unexpectedly early return by the
fact that the Lord of Rimini had at once approved his designs and
accepted his terms. Occasionally Giovanni asked a respectful question,
but neither his wife nor Marietta said much during the meal. Zorzi was
not mentioned.
"You are welcome at my house, my son," Beroviero said, when they had
finished, "but I suppose that you will go back to your own this
evening."
This was of course a command, and Marietta thought it a good omen. She
had felt sure, when her father made her look at him, that Giovanni had
spoken to him of the mantle, but in what way she could not tell.
Perhaps, though it seemed incredible, he would not make such a serious
case of it as she had expected.
He said nothing, when he withdrew to rest during the hot hours of the
afternoon, and she went to her own room as every one did at that time.
Little as she had slept that night, she felt that it would be
intolerable to lie down; so she took her little basket of beads and
tried to work. Nella was dozing in the next room. From time to time the
young girl leaned back in her chair with half-closed eyes, and a look of
pain came over her face; then with an effort she took her needle once
more, and picked out the beads, threading them one by one in a regular
succession of colours.
She was sure that if Zorzi were near he would have already found some
means of informing her that he was really in safety. He must have
friends of whom she knew nothing, and who had rescued him at great risk.
He would surely trust one of them to take a message, or to make a signal
which she could understand. She sat near the window, and the shutters
were half closed so as to leave a space through which she could look
out. From time to time she glanced at the white line of the footway
opposite, over which the shadow of the glass-house was beginning to
creep as the sun moved westward. But no one appeared. When it was cool
Pasquale would probably come out and look three times up and down the
canal as he always did. Giovanni would not go to the laboratory again.
Perhaps her father would go, when, he was rested. Then, if she chose,
she could take Nella and join him, and since there was to be an
explanation with him, she would rather have it in the laboratory, where
they would be quite alone.
She had fully made up her mind to tell him at the very first interview
that she would not marry Jacopo Contarini under any circumstances, but
she had not decided whether she would add that she loved Zorzi. She
hated anything like cowardice, and it would be cowardly to put off
telling the truth any longer; but what concerned Zorzi was her secret,
and she had a right to choose the most favourable moment for making a
revelation on which her whole life, and Zorzi's also, must immediately
depend. She felt weak and tired, for she had eaten little and hardly
slept at all, but her determination was strong and she would act upon
it.
Occasionally she rose and moved wearily about the room, looked out
between the shutters and then sat down again. She was in one of those
moments of life in which all existence seems drawn out to an endless
quivering thread, a single throbbing nerve stretched to its utmost point
of strain.
The silence was broken by a man's footstep in the passage, coming
towards her door. A moment later she heard her father's voice, asking if
he might come in. Almost at the same time she opened and Beroviero stood
on the threshold. Nella had heard him speaking, too, and she started up,
wide awake in an instant, and came in, to see if she were needed.
"Will you go with me to the laboratory, my dear?" asked the old man
quietly.
She answered gravely that she would. There was no gladness in her tone,
but no reluctance. She was facing the most difficult situation she had
ever known, and perhaps the most dangerous.
"Very well," said her father. "Let Nella give you your silk mantle and
we will go at once."
Before Marietta could have answered, even if she had known what to say,
Nella had begun her tale of woe. The mantle was stolen, the sour-faced
shrew of a maid who belonged to the Signor Giovanni's wife had stolen
it, the house ought to be searched at once, and so much more to the same
effect that Nella was obliged to pause for breath.
"When did you miss it?" asked Beroviero, looking hard at the
serving-woman.
"This morning, sir. It was here last night, I am quite sure."
The truthful little brown eyes did not waver.
"And it cannot have been any one else," continued Nella. "This is a very
evil person, sir, and she sometimes comes here with a message, or making
believe that she is helping me. As if I needed help, indeed!"
"Do not accuse people of stealing when you have no evidence against
them," answered Beroviero somewhat sternly. "Give your mistress
something else to throw over her."
"Give me the green silk cloak," said Marietta, who was anxious not to be
questioned about the mantle.
"It has a spot in one corner," Nella answered discontentedly, as she
went to the wardrobe.
The spot turned out to be no bigger than the head of a pin. A moment
later Marietta and her father were going downstairs. At the door of the
glass-house Pasquale eyed them with approbation, and Marietta smiled and
said a word to him as she passed. It seemed strange that she should have
trusted the ugly old man with a secret which she dared not tell her own
father.
Beroviero did not speak as she followed him down the path and stood
waiting while he unlocked the door. Then they both entered, and he laid
his cap upon the table.
"There is your mantle, my dear," he said quietly, and he pointed to it,
neatly folded and lying on the bench.
Marietta started, for she was taken unawares. While in her own room, her
father had spoken so naturally as to make it seem quite possible that
Giovanni had said nothing about it to him, yet he had known exactly
where it was. He was facing her now, as he spoke.
"It was found here last night, after Zorzi had been arrested," said
Beroviero. "Do you understand?"
"Yes," Marietta answered, gathering all her courage. "We will talk about
it by and by. First, I have something to say to you which is much more
important than anything concerning the mantle. Will you sit down,
father, and hear me as patiently as you can?"
"I am learning patience to-day," said Beroviero, sitting down in his
chair. "I am learning also the meaning of such words as ingratitude,
betrayal and treachery, which were never before spoken in my house."
He sighed and leaned back, looking at the wall. Marietta dropped her
cloak beside the mantle on the bench and began to walk up and down
before him, trying to begin her speech. But she could not find any
words.
"Speak, child," said her father. "What has happened? It seems to me that
I could bear almost anything now."
She stood still a moment before him, still hesitating. She now saw that
he had suffered more than she had suspected, doubtless owing to Zorzi's
arrest and disappearance, and she knew that what she meant to tell him
would hurt him much more.
"Father," she began at last, with a great effort, "I know that what I am
going to say will displease you very, very much. I am sorry--I wish it
were not--"
Suddenly her set speech broke down. She fell on her knees and took his
hands, looking up beseechingly to his face.
"Forgive me!" she cried. "Oh, for God's sake forgive me! I cannot marry
Jacopo Contarini!"
Beroviero had not expected that. He sat upright in the chair, in his
amazement, and instinctively tried to draw his hands out of hers, but
she held them fast, gazing earnestly up to him. His look was not angry,
nor cold, nor did he even seem hurt. He was simply astonished beyond
all measure by the enormous audacity of what she said. As yet he did not
connect it with anything else.
"I think you must be mad!"
That was all he could find to say.