ntreaties to me to strike the fatal blow; but I will not
have the blood of this innocent gentleman on me."

Simon Turchi was approaching. His face was very pale, but the scar which
furrowed his cheek was of a more ashy hue. He did not tremble, but he
walked precipitately, and he clasped his hands convulsively, like a man
whose impatience can brook no delay.

He noticed that his servant was in deep thought, his head bowed upon his
chest, and it was only on his near approach that Julio suddenly roused
from his preoccupation. He entered the room and said:

"Julio, the hour is nigh. Of what are you thinking? Are you afraid?"

"Afraid?" replied Julio, with a light laugh; "why should _I_ be afraid?"

"True, true," murmured Simon, "since I alone shall shed his blood."

"But," continued Julio, "if I have no cause for personal fear, would not
love for my master fill me with painful thoughts? Signor, you are playing
for dangerous stakes."

"Who will know what has taken place here?"

"Who? Is there not an eye above which sees all? And whilst here, in the
deepest secrecy, you immolate a human being to your thirst for vengeance,
will not God hear the cry of agony of the Signor Geronimo?"

Julio saw, with a secret joy, that his words made his master tremble,
although he tried to dissemble his feelings under an assumed
insensibility.

"What a good joke!" replied Simon; "Pietro Mostajo talking of God! My
precautions are too well taken; when the cellar will be the depository of
the secret, there will be none to tell it."

"Do you think so, signor? When has such a murder ever remained concealed?
It is not surprising that I bowed my head in thought. In imagination I saw
such terrible things that I dare not tell them to you. Tears still fill my
eyes at the thought."

"What did you see?" asked Turchi, with increasing anxiety.

"What did I see? The bailiff and his attendants. They bound a man's hand's
behind his back; they dragged him through the streets like an odious
criminal; the people cast filth and dirt upon the prisoner, and cried out,
'Murderer!' What did I see? A scaffold, and on this scaffold an
executioner and one condemned to death; then a sword glittered in the
sunlight, it fell, a stream of blood flowed, and a head rolled in the
dust."

The servant stopped intentionally; but his master convulsively caught his
arm, and said in a hoarse voice:

"What then? What then?"

"And then the crowd applauded and poured o