"A la bonne heure! Then, suppose we fix upon the plot of open ground just behind the hill to the left of the Casa Ghirlande--between that and the Villa Romani--it is quiet and secluded, and there will be no fear of interruption."

I bowed again.

"Thus it stands," continued the marquis, affably--"the hour of six--the weapons pistols--the paces to be decided hereafter when the other seconds arrive."

I professed myself entirely satisfied with these arrangements, and shook hands with my amiable coadjutor. I then looked round at the rest of the a.s.sembled company with a smile at their troubled faces.

"Gentlemen," I said, "our feast has broken up in a rather disagreeable manner--and I am sorry for it, the more especially as it compels me to part from you. Receive my thanks for your company, and for the friendship you have displayed toward me! I do not believe that this is the last time I shall have the honor of entertaining you--but if it should be so, I shall at any rate carry a pleasant remembrance of you into the next world! If on the contrary I should survive the combat of the morning, I hope to see you all again on my marriage-day, when nothing shall occur to mar our merriment. In the meantime--good-night!"

They closed round me, pressing my hands warmly and a.s.suring me of their entire sympathy with me in the quarrel that had occurred. The duke was especially cordial, giving me to understand that had the others failed in their services, he himself, in spite of his dignity and peace-loving disposition, would have volunteered as my second. I escaped from them all at last and reached the quiet of my own apartments. There I sat alone for more than an hour, waiting for the return of Vincenzo, whom I had sent to track Ferrari. I heard the departing footsteps of my guests as they left the hotel by twos and threes--I heard the equable voices of the marquis and Captain Freccia ordering hot coffee to be served to them in a private room where they were to await the other seconds--now and then I caught a few words of the excited language of the waiters who were volubly discussing the affair as they cleared away the remains of the superb feast at which, though none knew it save myself, death had been seated. Thirteen at table! One was a traitor and one must die.

I knew which one. No presentiment lurked in my mind as to the doubtful result of the coming combat. It was not my lot to fall--my time had not come yet--I felt certain of that! No! All the fateful forces of the universe would help me to keep alive till my vengeance was fulfilled.

Oh, what bitter shafts of agony Ferrari carried in his heart at that moment, I thought. HOW he had looked when I said she never cared for him! Poor wretch! I pitied him even while I rejoiced at his torture. He suffered now as I had suffered--he was duped as I had been duped--and each quiver of his convulsed face and tormented frame had been fraught with satisfaction to me! Each moment of his life was now a pang to him.

Well! it would soon be over--thus far at least I was merciful. I drew out pens and paper and commenced to write a few last instructions, in case the result of the fight should be fatal to me. I made them very concise and brief--I knew, while writing, that they would not be needed. Still--for the sake of form I wrote--and sealing the doc.u.ment, I directed it to the Duke di Marina. I looked at my watch--it was past one o'clock and Vincenzo had not yet returned. I went to the window, and drawing back the curtains, surveyed the exquisitely peaceful scene that lay before me. The moon was still high and bright--and her reflection made the waters of the bay appear like a warrior's coat of mail woven from a thousand glittering links of polished steel. Here and there, from the masts of anch.o.r.ed brigs and fishing-boats gleamed a few red and green lights burning dimly like fallen and expiring stars.

There was a heavy unnatural silence everywhere--it oppressed me, and I threw the window wide open for air. Then came the sound of bells chiming softly. People pa.s.sed to and fro with quiet footsteps--some paused to exchange friendly greetings. I remembered the day with a sort of pang at my heart. The night was over, though as yet there was no sign of dawn--and--it was Christmas morning!

CHAPTER XXV.

The opening of the room door aroused me from my meditations. I turned--to find Vincenzo standing near me, hat in hand--he had just entered.

"Ebbene!" I said, with a cheerful air--"what news?"

"Eccellenza, you have been obeyed. The young Signor Ferrari is now at his studio."

"You left him there?"

"Yes, eccellenza"--and Vincenzo proceeded to give me a graphic account of his adventures. On leaving the banqueting-room, Ferrari had taken a carriage and driven straight to the Villa Romani--Vincenzo, unperceived, had swung himself on to the back of the vehicle and had gone also.

"Arriving there," continued my valet, "he dismissed the fiacre--and rang the gate-bell furiously six or seven times. No one answered. I hid myself among the trees and watched. There were no lights in the villa windows--all was darkness. He rang it again--he even shook the gate as though he would break it open. At last the poor Giacomo came, half undressed and holding a lantern in his hand--he seemed terrified, and trembled so much that the lantern jogged up and down like a corpse-candle on a tomb.

"'I must see the contessa,' said the young signor, Giacomo blinked like an owl, and coughed as though the devil scratched in his throat.

"'The contessa!' he said. 'She is gone!'

"The signor then threw himself upon Giacomo and shook him to and fro as though he were a bag of loose wheat.

"'Gone!' and he screamed like a madman! 'WHERE? Tell me WHERE, dolt!

idiot! driveler! before I twist your neck for you!'

"Truly, eccellenza, I would have gone to the rescue of the poor Giacomo, but respect for your commands kept me silent. 'A thousand pardons, signor!' he whispered, out of breath with his shaking.' I will tell you instantly--most instantly. She is at the Convento dell'

Annunziata--ten miles from here--the saints know I speak the truth--she left two days since.'

"The Signor Ferrari then flung away the unfortunate Giacomo with so much force that he fell in a heap on the pavement and broke his lantern to pieces. The old man set up a most pitiful groaning, but the signor cared nothing for that. He was mad, I think. 'Get to bed!' he cried, 'and sleep--sleep till you die! Tell your mistress when you see her that I came to kill her! My curse upon this house and all who dwell in it!' And with that he ran so quickly through the garden into the high-road that I had some trouble to follow him. There after walking unsteadily for a few paces, he suddenly fell down, senseless."

Vincenzo paused. "Well," I said, "what happened next?"

"Eccellenza, I could not leave him there without aid. I drew my cloak well up to my mouth and pulled my hat down over my eyes so that he could not recognize me. Then I took water from the fountain close by and dashed it on his face. He soon came to himself, and, taking me for a stranger, thanked me for my a.s.sistance, saying that he had a sudden shock. He then drank greedily from the fountain and went on his way."

"You followed?"

"Yes, eccellenza--at a little distance. He next visited a common tavern in one of the back streets of the city and came out with two men. They were well dressed--they had the air of gentlemen spoiled by bad fortune. The signor talked with them for some time--he seemed much excited. I could not hear what they said except at the end, when these two strangers consented to appear as seconds for Signor Ferrari, and they at once left him, to come straight to this hotel. And they are arrived, for I saw them through a half-opened door as I came in, talking with the Marquis D'Avencourt."

"Well!" I said, "and what of Signor Ferrari when he was left alone by his two friends?"

"There is not much more to tell, eccellenza. He went up the little hill to his own studio, and I noticed that he walked like a very old man with his head bent. Once he stopped and shook his fist in the air as though threatening some one. He let himself in at his door with a private key--and I saw him no more. I felt that he would not come out again for some time. And as I moved away to return here, I heard a sound as of terrible weeping."

"And that is all, Vincenzo?"

"That is all, eccellenza."

I was silent. There was something in the simple narration that touched me, though I remained as determinately relentless as ever. After a few moments I said:

"You have done well, Vincenzo. You are aware how grossly this young man has insulted me--and that his injurious treatment can only be wiped out in one way. That way is already arranged. You can set out those pistols you cleaned."

Vincenzo obeyed--but as he lifted the heavy case of weapons and set them on the table, he ventured to remark, timidly:

"The eccellenza knows it is now Christmas-day?"

"I am quite aware of the fact," I said somewhat frigidly.

In nowise daunted he went on, "Coming back just now I saw the big Nicolo--the eccellenza has doubtless seen him often?--he is a vine-grower, and they say he is the largest man in Naples--three months since he nearly killed his brother--ebbene! To-night that same big Nicolo is drinking Chianti with that same brother, and both shouted after me as I pa.s.sed, 'Hola! Vincenzo Flamma! all is well between us because it is the blessed Christ's birthday.'" Vincenzo stopped and regarded me wistfully.

"Well!" I said, calmly, "what has the big Nicolo or his brother to do with me?"

My valet hesitated--looked up--then down--finally he said, simply, "May the saints preserve the eccellenza from all harm!"

I smiled gravely. "Thank you, my friend! I understand what you mean.

Have no fear for me. I am now going to lie down and rest till five o'clock or thereabouts--and I advise you to do the same. At that time you can bring me some coffee."

And I nodded kindly to him as I left him and entered my sleeping apartment, where I threw myself on the bed, dressed as I was. I had no intention of sleeping--my mind was too deeply engrossed by all I had gone through. I could enter into Guido's feelings--had I not suffered as he was now suffering?--nay! more than he--for HE, at any rate, would not be buried alive! I should take care of that! HE would not have to endure the agony of breaking loose from the cold grasp of the grave to come back to life and find his name slandered, and his vacant place filled up by a usurper. Do what I would, I could not torture him as much as I myself had been tortured. That was a pity--death, sudden and almost painless, seemed too good for him. I held up my hand in the half light and watched it closely to see if it trembled ever so slightly.

No! it was steady as a rock--I felt I was sure of my aim. I would not fire at his heart, I thought but just above it--for I had to remember one thing--he must live long enough to recognize me before he died.

THAT was the sting I reserved for his last moments! The sick dreams that had bewildered my brain when I was taken ill at the auberge recurred to me. I remembered the lithe figure, so like Guido, that had glided in the Indian canoe toward me and had plunged a dagger three times in my heart? Had it not been realized? Had not Guido stabbed me thrice?--in his theft of my wife's affections--in his contempt for my little dead child--in his slanders on my name? Then why such foolish notions of pity--of forgiveness, that were beginning to steal into my mind? It was too late now for forgiveness--the very idea of it only rose out of a silly sentimentalism awakened by Ferrari's allusion to our young days--days for which, after all, he really cared nothing.

Meditating on all these things, I suppose I must have fallen by imperceptible degrees into a doze which gradually deepened till it became a profound and refreshing sleep. From this I was awakened by a knocking at the door. I arose and admitted Vincenzo, who entered bearing a tray of steaming coffee.

"Is it already so late?" I asked him.

"It wants a quarter to five," replied Vincenzo--then looking at me in some surprise, he added, "Will not the eccellenza change his evening-dress?"

I nodded in the affirmative--and while I drank my coffee my valet set out a suit of rough tweed, such as I was accustomed to wear every day.

He then left me, and I quickly changed my attire, and while I did so I considered carefully the position of affairs. Neither the Marquis D'Avencourt nor Captain Freccia had ever known me personally when I was Fabio Romani--nor was it at all probable that the two tavern companions of Ferrari had ever seen me. A surgeon would be on the field--most probably a stranger. Thinking over these points, I resolved on a bold stroke--it was this--that when I turned to face Ferrari in the combat, I would do so with uncovered eyes--I would abjure my spectacles altogether for the occasion. Vaguely I wondered what the effect would be upon him. I was very much changed even without these disguising gla.s.ses--my white beard and hair had seemingly altered my aspect--yet I knew there was something familiar in the expression of my eyes that could not fail to startle one who had known me well. My seconds would consider it very natural that I should remove the smoke-colored spectacles in order to see my aim unenc.u.mbered--the only person likely to be disconcerted by my action was Ferrari himself. The more I thought of it the more determined I was to do it. I had scarcely finished dressing when Vincenzo entered with my overcoat, and informed me that the marquis waited for me, and that a close carriage was in attendance at the private door of the hotel.

"Permit me to accompany you, eccellenza!" pleaded the faithful fellow, with anxiety in the tone of his voice.

"Come then, amico!" I said, cheerily. "If the marquis makes no objection I shall not. But you must promise not to interrupt any of the proceedings by so much as an exclamation."