it was heavier when I reached the place where the culprit awaited his fate.  The tidings of my poor son’s death reached me as I put foot on the threshold of the desolate prison, and I turned aside to weep for my own woes, before I entered to see my victim.  The condemned man had great unwillingness to die; he had sent for me many hours before the fatal moment, to make acquaintance, as he said, with the hand that was to dispatch him to the presence of his last and eternal judge.”

Balthazar paused; he appeared to meditate on a scene that had probably left indelible impressions on his mind.  Shuddering involuntarily, he raised his eyes from the pavement of the chapel, and continued the recital, always in the same subdued and tranquil manner.

“I have been the unwilling instrument of many a violent death—­I have seen the most reckless sinners in the agonies of sudden and compelled repentance, but never have I witnessed so wild and fearful a struggle between earth and heaven—­the world and the grave—­passion and the rebuke of Providence—­as attended the last hours of that unhappy man!  There were moments in which the mild spirit of Christ won upon his evil mood ’tis true; but the picture was, in general, that of revenge so fierce, that the powers of hell alone could give it birth in a human heart.  He had with him an infant of an age just, fitted to be taken from the breast.  This child appeared to awaken the fiercest conflicting feelings; he both yearned over it and detested its sight, though hatred seemed most to prevail.”

“This was horrible!” murmured the Doge.

“It was the more horrible, Herr Doge, that it should come from one who was justly condemned to the axe.  He rejected the priests; he would have naught of any but me.  My soul lothed the wretch—­yet so few ever showed an interest in us—­and it would have been cruel to desert a dying man!  At the end, he placed the child in my care, furnishing more gold than was sufficient to rear it frugally to the age of manhood, and leaving other valuables which I have kept as proofs that might some day be useful.  All I could learn of the infant’s origin was simply this.  It came from Italy, and of Italian parents; its mother died soon after its birth,”—­a groan escaped the Doge—­“its father still lived, and was the object of the criminal’s implacable hatred, as its mother had been of his ardent love; its birth was noble, and it had been baptized in the bosom of the church by the name of Gaetano.”

“It must be he!—­it is—­it must be my beloved son!—­” exclaimed the Doge, unable to control himself any longer.  He spread wide his arms, and Sigismund threw himself upon his bosom, though there still remained fearful apprehensions that all he heard was a dream.  “Go on—­go on—­excellent Balthazar,” added the Signor Grimaldi, drying his eyes, and struggling to command himself.  “I shall have no peace until all is revealed to the last syllable of thy wonderful, thy glorious tale!”