"Yes—I believe it is clean," he answered, almost hesitating. "I cleaned it yesterday morning."
Nella had brought the copper ladle. There were always several in the glass-works for making tests. Marietta took it and went to the furnace, while Nella watched her, in great fear lest she should burn herself. But the young girl was in no danger, for she had spent half her life in the laboratory and the garden, watching her father. She wrapped the wet cloth round her hand and held the ladle by the end.
"We will begin with the one on the right," she said, thrusting the instrument through the aperture.
Bringing it out with some glass in it, she supported it with both hands as she went quickly to the iron table, and she instantly poured out the stuff and began to watch it.
"It is just what you had the other day," she said, as the glass rapidly cooled.
Zorzi was seated high enough to look over the table.
"Another failure," he said. "It is always the same. We have scarcely had any variation in the tint in the last week."
"That is not your fault," answered Marietta. "We will try the next."
As if she had been at the work all her life, she chilled the ladle and chipped off the small adhering bits of glass from it, and slipped the last test from the table, carrying it to the refuse jar with tongs. Once more she wrapped the damp cloth round her hand and went to the furnace. The middle crucible was to be tried next. Nella, looking on with nervous anxiety, was in a profuse perspiration.
"I believe that is the one into which the ladle fell," said Zorzi. "Yes, I am quite sure of it."