"The little that Venice refuses me!" said Zorzi with some bitterness. "Am I presuming so much, then, when I ask you for your daughter's hand? Is it not in my power, or will it not be very soon, to go to some other city, to Milan, or Florence—"
"No, no!" cried Beroviero. "You shall not take her away—"
He stopped short, realising that he had betrayed what had been in his mind, since he had seen the two standing there, clasped in one another's arms, namely, that in spite of him, or with his blessing, his daughter would before long be married to the man she loved.
"Come, come!" he said testily. "This is sheer nonsense!"
He made a step forward as if to break off the situation by going away.
"If you would rather that I should not leave you, sir," said Zorzi, "I will stay here and make my glass in your furnace, and you shall sell it as if it were your own."
"Yes, father, say yes!" cried Marietta, clasping her hands upon the old man's shoulder. "You see how generous Zorzi is!"
"Generous!" Beroviero shook his head. "He is trying to bribe me, for there is a fortune in his glass, as he says. He is offering me a fortune, I tell you, to let him marry you!"
"The fortune which Messer Jacopo had made you promise to pay him for condescending to be my husband!" retorted Marietta triumphantly. "It seems to me that of the two, Zorzi is the better match!"
Beroviero stared at her a moment, bewildered. Then, in half-comic despair he clapped both his hands upon his ears and shook himself gently free from her.