The others looked as if they did not understand.

Zorzi had known well enough what humour he should find among them, but he would not let the taunt go unanswered.
"Sirs," he said, for they all claimed the nobility of the glass-blowers' caste, "I come not to teach you, but to prove to the master's son that I can make some trifle in the manner of your art." No one spoke.

The workmen in the elder Beroviero's house knew well enough that Zorzi was a better artist than they, and they had no mind to let him outdo them at their own furnace.
"Will any one of you gentlemen allow me to use his place ?" asked Zorzi civilly.
Not a man answered.

In the sullen silence the busy hands moved with quick skill, the furnace roared, the glowing glass grew in ever-changing shapes.
"One of you must give Zorzi his place," said Giovanni, in a tone of authority.
The little foreman turned quite round in his chair and looked on.

There was no reply.