Beroviero's look of interest gradually turned into an expression of disappointment.
"Another failure," he said, with a resignation which no one would have expected in such a man.
His practised eyes had guessed the exact hue of the glass, while it still lay on the iron, half cooled and far too hot to touch.

Zorzi took a short rod and pushed the round sheet till a part of it was over the edge of the table.
"It is the best we have had yet," he observed, looking at it.
"Is it ?" asked Beroviero with little interest, and without giving the glass another glance.

"It is not what I am trying to get.

It is the colour of wine, not of blood.

Make something, Zorzi, while I write down the result of the experiment." He took big pen and the sheet of rough paper on which he had already noted the proportions of the materials, and he began to write, sitting at the large table before the open window.