Beroviero brought Marietta with him, as he often did, and when they were within he naturally stopped to question Pasquale about his search, while Marietta went on to the garden.  The porter took a long time to shut the door, and instead of answering Beroviero, shook his ugly head discontentedly, and muttered imprecations on all makers of locks, latches, bolts, bars and other fastenings, living, dead and yet unborn.  So it came to pass that Marietta came upon Zorzi suddenly and alone, when she least expected to meet him.

He was standing by the well-remembered rose-bush, leaning on his stick with one hand and lifting up a trailing branch with the other.  But when he heard Marietta’s step he let the branch drop again and stood waiting for her with happy eyes.  She uttered a little cry, that was almost of fear, and stopped short in her walk, for in the first instant she could have believed that she saw a vision; then she ran forward with outstretched hands, and fell into his arms as he dropped his stick to catch her.  As her head touched his shoulder, her heart stopped beating for a moment, she gasped a little, and seemed to choke, and then the tears of joy flowed from her eyes, her pulses stirred again, and all was well.  He felt a tremor in his hands and could not speak aloud, but as he held her he bent down and whispered something in her ear; and she smiled through the shower of her happy tears, though he could not see it, for her face was hidden.

Just then Beroviero entered from the corridor, followed by Pasquale, and the two old men stood still together gazing at the young lovers.  It was on that very spot that the master, when going upon his journey, had told Zorzi how he wished he were his son.  But now he forgot that he had said it, and the angry blood rushed to his forehead.

“How dare you?” he cried, as he made a step to go on towards the pair.

They heard his voice and separated hastily.  Marietta’s fresh cheek blushed like red roses, and she looked down, as shamefacedly as any country maid, but Zorzi turned white as he stooped to pick up his stick, then stood quite upright and met her father’s eyes.

“How dare you, I say?” repeated the old man fiercely.

“I love her, sir,” Zorzi answered without fear for himself, but with much apprehension for Marietta.

“And have you forgotten that I love him, father?” asked Marietta, looking up but still blushing.  “You know, I told you all the truth, and you were not angry then.  At least, you were not so very angry,” she added, shyly correcting herself.

“If she has told you, sir,” Zorzi began, “let me—­”

“You can tell me nothing I do not know,” cried Beroviero, “and nothing I wish to hear!  Be off!  Go to the laboratory and begin work.  I will speak with my daughter.”

Then Pasquale’s voice was heard.

“A furnace without a fire is like a ship without a wind,” he said.  “It might as well be anything else.”