ffer from similar things made
by lesser artists. Yet in those little variations lies all the great
secret that divides grace from awkwardness. Zorzi now had the whole
vessel, with its spout and handle, on the pontil. It was finished, but
he could still ornament it. His own instinct was to let it alone,
leaving its perfect shape and airy lightness to be its only beauty, and
he turned it thoughtfully as he looked at it, hesitating whether he
should detach it from the iron, or do more.

"If you have finished your nonsense, let me come back to my work," said
Piero behind him.

Zorzi did not turn to answer, for he had decided to add some delicate
ornaments, merely to show Giovanni that he was a full master of the art.
The dark-browed man had just collected a heavy lump of glass on the end
of his blow-pipe, and was blowing into it before giving it the first
swing that would lengthen it out. He and Piero exchanged glances,
unnoticed by Zorzi, who had become almost unconscious of their hostile
presence. He began to take little drops of glass from the furnace on the
end of a thin iron, and he drew them out into thick threads and heated
them again and laid them on the body of the ampulla, twisting and
turning each bit till he had no more, and forming a regular raised
design on the surface. His neighbour seemed to get no further with what
he was doing, though he busily heated and reheated his lump of glass and
again and again swung his blow-pipe round his head, and backward and
forward. The foreman was too much interested in Zorzi to notice what the
others were doing.

Zorzi was putting the last touches to his work. In a moment it would be
finished and ready to go to the annealing oven, though he was even then
reflecting that the workmen would certainly break it up as soon as the
foreman turned his back. The man next to him swung his blow-pipe again,
loaded with red-hot glass.

It slipped from his hand, and the hot mass, with the full weight of the
heavy iron behind it, landed on Zorzi's right foot, three paces away,
with frightful force. He uttered a sharp cry of surprise and pain. The
lovely vessel he had made flew from his hands and broke into a thousand
tiny fragments. In excruciating agony he lifted the injured foot from
the ground and stood upon the other. Not a hand was stretched out to
help him, and he felt that he was growing dizzy. He made a frantic
effort to hop on one leg towards the furnace, so as to lean against