The ruffian accompanied the servant to the lower story, opened the door of the street, and closed it behind him.

When Julio found himself in the open air, he walked a short distance, then stopped, drew a long breath as if a heavy weight had fallen from his shoulders, and said, joyously: 

“Heavens! what an escape!  I doubt if I am really alive.  The difficult affair is at last concluded.  The signor says that I am a coward.  I would like to see him in that room with that infernal woman and the terrible Bufferio.  Now I must go to Geronimo.  My greatest difficulty is yet to come.  If I get through it successfully, I may well say that I was born under a lucky star.  But I cannot tarry, I have still a long distance to walk.”

He quickened his pace and soon reached the street on which the Dominican Convent stood; he passed the Abbey of Saint Michael and the Mint, and entered the grand square without being molested.

On the way he kept his hand in his pocket, that he might enjoy the pleasure of passing the gold coin through his fingers.  He muttered to himself that he had gained three gold crowns which his master would never see again, were he to live a hundred years.  Once free from his present care and anxiety, he would take his seat at a gaming-table, where he would remain all day, and perhaps he could win heaps of gold.

Absorbed in these thoughts, he reached Geronimo’s residence and knocked at the door.  It was soon opened, and he was conducted into a room on the ground floor, where the young gentleman, in his cap and cloak, seemed to be waiting the arrival of friends.

“Peace be to this house!” said Julio, bowing.  “Signor, I bring you a message which I would deliver with more pleasure were it less sad.  My poor master is ill with fever, and is unable to leave his bed.  He begs you to excuse him from accompanying you to-night to the serenade.”

Geronimo’s countenance assumed an expression of deep compassion.  The young man concluded that his own happiness, his approaching marriage with Miss Van de Werve, had touched the heart of his poor friend, and that his present state of health was the consequence of these painful emotions.

“Did the fever attack him suddenly, Julio?” he asked.  “Is he very ill?”

“No, signor.  It may not have any bad consequences; but he could not venture to expose himself to the cold and damp night-air.”

Geronimo seemed in deep thought.

“Signor, my master did not send me solely to inform you of his indisposition; he directed me to accompany you to the serenade, and to protect you in case of danger.  He knows how courageous I am, and that were five or six to attack you, I would not flee before them.”

“I accept your services, Julio.  You always seemed to me to be a devoted servant.  The lute-players have not yet arrived.  Go to the kitchen and tell the cook to give you a pint of beer.”