Marietta took the specimen and poured it out, set down the ladle on the brick work, and watched the cooling glass, expecting to see what she had often seen before. But her face changed, in a look of wonder and delight.
"Zorzi!" she exclaimed. "Look! Look! See what a colour!"
"I cannot see well," he answered, straining his neck. "Wait a minute!" he cried, as Marietta took the tongs. "I see now! We have got it! I believe we have got it! Oh, if I could only walk!"
"Patience—you shall see it. It is almost cool. It is quite stiff now."
She took the little flat cake up with the tongs, very carefully, and held it before his eyes. The light fell through it from the window, and her head was close to his, as they both looked at it together.
"I never dreamed of such a colour," said Zorzi, his face flushing with excitement.
"There never was such a colour before," answered Marietta. "It is like the juice of a ripe pomegranate that has just been cut, only there is more light in it."
"It is like a great ruby—the rubies that the jewellers call 'pigeon's blood.'"
"My father always said it should be blood-red," said Marietta. "But I thought he meant something different, something more scarlet."
"I thought so, too. What they call pigeon's blood is not the colour of blood at all. It is more like pomegranates, as you said at first. But this is a marvellous thing. The master will be pleased."