Be these things as they may, Zorzi worked hard in the laboratory,
minutely carrying out the instructions he had received, but reasoning
upon them with a freshness and keenness of thought of which his master
was no longer capable. When he had made the trials and had added the new
ingredients for future ones, he began to think out methods of his own
which had suggested themselves to him of late, but which he had never
been able to try. But though he had the furnace to himself, to use as
long as he could endure the heat of the advancing summer, he was face
to face with a difficulty that seemed insuperable.
The furnace had but three crucibles, each of which contained one of the
mixtures by means of which he and Beroviero were trying to produce the
famous red glass. In order to begin to make glass in his own way, it was
necessary that one of the three should be emptied, but unless he
disobeyed his orders this was out of the question. In his train of
thought and longing to try what he felt sure must succeed, he had
forgotten the obstacle. The check brought him back to himself, and he
walked disconsolately up and down the long room by the side of the
furnace.
Everything was against him, said the melancholy little demon that
torments genius on dark days.
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