He had never before, in his whole life, parted with a piece of gold without a little pang of regret; but he had felt the most keen and genuine pleasure just now, when Zorzi had at last accepted the coin.
Pasquale watched him cross the wooden bridge and go into his father's house opposite.

Then the old porter shut the door and went back to the laboratory, walking slowly with his ugly head bent a little, as if in deep thought.

Zorzi had already resumed his occupation and had a lump of hot glass swinging on his blow-pipe, his crutch being under his right arm.
"Half a rainbow to windward," observed the old sailor.

"There will be a squall before long." "What do you mean ?" asked Zorzi.
"If you had seen the Signor Giovanni smile, as he went out, you would know what I mean," answered Pasquale.

"In our seas, when we see the stump of a rainbow low down in the clouds, we say it is the eye of the wind, looking out for us, and I can tell you that the wind is never long in coming!" "Did you say anything to make him smile ?" asked Zorzi, going on with his work.
"I am not a mountebank," growled the porter.