She seated herself at the table, took up the knife and linen, and continued her occupation, whilst observing the stranger with a suspicious eye.

He had pulled the hood of the cloak over his face and seated himself in silence, fixing his eye vaguely upon space, like a man wearied by long waiting.  He was deeply agitated, and from time to time his whole frame shook.  Every time that he glanced towards the table he met the penetrating look of the frightful Megaera, who, while continuing to clean the blade of the large knife, considered him from head to foot, and seemed endeavoring to discover who he was and with what intention he had come.

At last, no longer able to resist his feeling of anxiety, he rose and said: 

“Woman, show me the way out.  I have not time to wait longer.  I will return to-morrow, during the day.”

“I hear Bufferio whistling in the street,” she replied.

“He is even now placing the key in the door.”

The stranger, as if perfectly satisfied with this intelligence, fell back in his chair, with a suppressed sigh, and listened in an agony of fear to the heavy footsteps on the staircase.

Bufferio appeared at the door, and looked distrustfully at the man who had interrupted him at his game.

The ruffian Bufferio was of giant build.  He was obliged to stoop in order to enter the door.  His head was thrown back defiantly, and his hand rested upon the hilt of a dagger which was held by his girdle.  A broad-brimmed hat shaded his face; his whole dress was of dark-brown cloth, scarcely distinguishable in the darkness of night.  Under his prominent eyebrows twinkled very small eyes, and a cruel, withering smile played about his mouth.

He made an imperious gesture to the woman and pointed to the door.  She left the room grumbling, but gave no other evidence of dissatisfaction.

The ruffian shut the door, took a chair, and said to the stranger, in a rough and coarse voice: 

“Perche me disturba? Why do you disturb me?  Who are you?”

This question was very embarrassing to the stranger.  He replied, stammering: 

“Is it necessary, Signor Bufferio, that you should know my name before doing me a service for which I will pay you liberally?”

On hearing these words, the ruffian struck his forehead with his hand, as if he thought he recognized the voice of the visitor; but he did not stop to reflect longer.

“Come tell me quickly what you want; they are waiting for me at the tavern of the Silver Dice, and I have no time to lose.”

“It is an affair of importance, Signor Bufferio.”

“Yes; my wife told me I might gain a few crowns of gold.  Speak.  Why do you beat about the bush in this manner?  What embarrasses you?  Do you think you are dealing with a dishonest man?  Fear nothing.  Not a hair of your head shall be touched in my house.”