His anger had slowly subsided, and he was listening now, not because she had him in her power, but because what she said was true. For he was a just and honourable man.
"I wish that you might have loved any man but Zorzi," he said, almost as if speaking to himself.
"And why another?" she asked, following up her advantage instantly. "You would have had me marry a Trevisan, perhaps, or the son of any of the other great glass-makers? Is there one of them who can compare with Zorzi as an artist, let alone as a man? Look at those things he has made, there, on the table! Is there a man living who could make one of them? Not you, yourself; you know it better than I do!"
"No," answered Beroviero. "That is true. Nor is there any one who could make the glass he used for them without the secrets that are in the book—and more too, for it is better than my own."
Marietta looked at him in surprise. This was something she had not known.
"Is it not your glass?" she asked.
"It is better. He must have added something to the composition set down in the book."
"You believe that although the book itself is safe, he has made use of it."
"Yes. I cannot see how it could be otherwise."
"Was the book sealed?"