‘Not glass. It was steam.’ Mathieu tugged his sleeve farther down in an effort to hide the burn. ‘Everyone asks. Glass would have taken the arm.’ He tapped the paper. ‘I can see why my father thinks this is not possible, at least not with the way we currently work. I have no idea what will happen when you try casting the glamour. Shall we find out?’

Mathieu led them to a different furnace and they began the process by having the young man blow a simple bubble. Since Vincent could work glamour at a distance, he stood back from the furnace, waiting for the ball of molten crystal to be lifted forth.

As Mathieu worked, Vincent deftly sketched the lines for the red cone they had first discussed. Almost immediately, he grimaced. Jane let her vision shift to see why.

Working at a distance as he did was difficult enough, but he was, in essence, aiming at a moving target. Though Mathieu was remarkably steady, the end of his pole was a good five feet away from him and shifted with even the slightest movement. Vincent was having problems aligning his glamour with the glass.

After some minutes of trying and failing, he shook his head and signalled Mathieu to leave off. He dipped the pole back into the furnace and let the crystal dissolve into the mass. Wiping his forehead, he stepped away. ‘How did that work?

‘Not well. The tip moves.’

Mathieu laid his pole on an old table charred with evidence of previous work. ‘If I had a stand to keep the end still, that would help?’

‘I believe so, yes.’

He quickly found a stand with a Y yoke at the end. ‘We do not use it often, but it is handy when doing larger pieces.’

Once again they took their stations, Vincent still staying well back. Jane watched, wishing that there were something she could add to the proceedings, but at this point there was nothing for her to do. The next hour passed in this manner, with Vincent repeatedly trying to simply get the glamour to pass through the glass while Mathieu attempted to hold the end of the pole steady. To the naked eye, it would seem they were succeeding, but each time, Vincent grimaced and shook his head.

Tugging at his cravat, Vincent pulled it free from his collar. ‘I am going to need to be closer. The end of the pole moves no matter how steadily Mathieu holds it, and my control is not specific enough at this distance.’

‘Shall I have a go at it?’ Jane asked.

Mathieu shook his head. ‘Not in muslin, madame.’