"It was an accident," he said faintly. "You did not mean to do it."
The man looked away shamefacedly, for he knew that even if he had not
meant to injure Zorzi for life, he had meant to hurt him if he could.
As for Giovanni, he was puzzled by all that had happened so
unexpectedly, for he was a dull man, though very keen for gain, and he
did not understand human nature. He disliked Zorzi, but during the
morning he had become convinced that the gifted young artist was a
valuable piece of property, and not, as he had supposed, a clever
flatterer who had wormed himself into old Beroviero's confidence. A man
who could make such things was worth much money to his master. There
were kings and princes, from the Pope to the Emperor, who would have
given a round sum in gold for the beautiful ampulla of which only a heap
of tiny fragments were now left to be swept away.
The two men brought Zorzi across the garden to the door of the
laboratory. Leaning heavily on the foreman he got the key out, and
Giovanni turned it in the lock. They would have taken him to the small
inner room, to lay him on his pallet bed, but he would not go.
"The bench," he managed to say, indicating it with a nod of his head.
There was an old leathern pillow in the big chair.
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