The lock grated as the key turned; the door was opened and closed, and Simon Turchi and his servant disappeared in the dark and solitary street.

CHAPTER IV.

THE ATTEMPTED ASSASSINATION—­THE ASSASSINATOR SLAIN.

A black shadow gliding like an almost impalpable spot, might be seen moving along the street of Saint John.

Thick clouds covered the sky.  Not a star was visible.  Here and there—­at the corners of the streets and alleys—­flickered a small lamp, lighted before an image of the Virgin; but these slight flames, far from diminishing the obscurity, shone in the foggy atmosphere as glowworms in the woods, which glitter but do not give light.

Silence reigned in the deserted streets.  If the inhabitants, behind their oaken windows, heard occasionally some sound interrupting the stillness of the night, it was the hurried step of some benighted artisan who made as much noise as possible with his feet in order to frighten away the robbers; or it was the slow tread of a highwayman, who, listening attentively and peering through the darkness, was on the watch for his prey; or it might be the watchmen, who cried the hour and made the pavement resound under the stroke of their halberds as if to give evil-doers a warning of their approach.

The shadow gliding at this moment along the street of St. John was that of a man completely enveloped in a large cloak, his head so covered by the hood that his eyes alone were visible.  As in passing before an image of the Virgin a feeble ray from a lamp fell upon him, one might have seen as he hurried along that his hand rested on the hilt of his sword.

Was this person an evil-doer, bent upon the commission of some crime, or, fearing danger, was he securing to himself the means of defence?

However that may be, he pursued his way undisturbed and reached a narrow winding alley, from beneath the ground of which seemed to proceed the confused noise of many voices.

The man stopped at the entrance of a cellar, to which admission was gained by a ladder, and listened to the joyous sounds which issued from within.

He put his hand in his pocket and chinked some pieces of money.

“The sign of the Silver Dice!” said he, sighing.  “How merry they are!  The dice are rolling upon the table.  Shall I not risk a shilling?  Only one?”

Yielding to the irresistible temptation, he placed his foot upon the ladder; but a sudden thought seemed to arrest him.  He sprang back, trembling, and hastened from the cellar.  A little farther in the street he stopped and murmured in an anxious voice: 

“Heavens! what was I about to do?  Risk the money upon dice?  I would certainly have lost the whole.  Pietro Mostajo, do not forget the Superintendent of Lucca!  I am saved.  Infernal temptation!  I was about to stake my head.  But, perhaps, I would not be unlucky.  I might win a fortune.  The temptation returns.  No, no, I must go seek Bufferio, and I have no time to lose.  He lives yonder:  a low dark door beside the pump.”