I am afraid that
you may change your mind, you see, and I am very anxious to have such a
beautiful thing."
He laughed cheerfully, nodded to Zorzi and went out at once, almost
before the latter had time to rise from his seat and get his crutch
under his arm.
When he was alone, Zorzi looked at the coin and laid it on the table. He
was much puzzled by Giovanni's conduct, but at the same time his
artist's vanity was flattered by what had happened. Giovanni's
admiration of the glass was genuine; there could be no doubt of that,
and he was a good judge. As for the work, Zorzi knew quite well that
there was not a glass-blower in Murano who could approach him either in
taste or skill. Old Beroviero had told him so within the last few
months, and he felt that it was true.
He would have been neither a natural man nor a born artist if he had
refused to sell the beaker, out of an exaggerated scruple. But the
transaction had shown him that his only chance of success for the future
lay in frankly telling old Beroviero what he had done in his absence,
while reserving his secret for himself. The master was proud of him as
his pupil, and sincerely attached to him as a man, and would certainly
not try to force him into explaining how the glass was made.
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