Though it was the hundredth time of testing, the old
man watched his movements with intensest interest.
"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 glass, 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
glass 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.
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