Marietta suddenly wished that she were wicked, like the Romans and the Florentines; and even when she reflected that it was a sin to wish that one were bad, she was not properly repentant, because she had a very vague notion of what wickedness really was.

Righteousness seemed just now to consist in being smothered in heavy clothes, in a horribly hot room, while respectable women of all ages, fat, thin, fair, red-haired, dark, ugly and handsome, all chattered at her and overwhelmed her with nauseous flattery.
She thought of that morning in the garden, three days ago, when something she did not understand had been so near, just before disappearing for ever.

Then her throat tightened and she saw indistinctly, and her lips were suddenly dry.

After that, she remembered little of what happened on that evening, and by and by she was alone in her own room without a light, standing at the open window with bare feet on the cold pavement, and the night breeze stirred her hair and brought her the scent of the rosemary and lavender, while she tried to listen to the stars, as if they were speaking to her, and lost herself in her thoughts for a few moments before going to sleep.
Zorzi was still sitting in the big chair against the wall when he heard a footstep in the garden, and as he rose to look out Beroviero entered.
The master was wrapped in a long cloak that covered something which he was carrying.

There was no lamp in the laboratory, but the three fierce eyes of the furnace shed a low red glare in different directions.
Beroviero had given orders that the night boys should not come until he sent for them.
"I thought it wiser to bring this over at night," he said, setting a small iron box on the table.
It contained the secrets of Paolo Godi, which were worth a great fortune in those times.
"Of all my possessions," said the old man, laying his hands upon the casket, "these are the most valuable.