“Certainly, Simon, and I am most grateful to you for your kindness.  Will this merchant give me the amount in coin?”

“No, but in bills of exchange on Milan, Florence, and Lucca.”

“Good and reliable bills, Simon?”

“You shall be the judge before accepting them.  Fear nothing, you shall be fully satisfied.”

“Well, I will go.  After Change, between five and six o’clock, will that answer?”

“It makes no difference to me, provided I know the hour beforehand.”

“Expect me, then, to-morrow, between five and six o’clock.  But let us return to the house.  Our long absence might cause remark.”

Simon Turchi arose, but remained standing in the same spot, and said: 

“Geronimo, I have promised the merchant that none but yourself shall know of his presence in Antwerp.  Say nothing, therefore, to your uncle, to Mary, nor to any one else.  The least indiscretion might disarrange our plans, and be perilous to the stranger.  Come alone, without any attendant.”

“I will do as you direct,” said Geronimo, “but it will be impossible for me to remain until dark.  My uncle will be seriously displeased if I go out again at night without a sufficient guard.”

“I will not detain you over half an hour.”

At that moment a servant from the house entered the garden looking for Geronimo.

“Signor Geronimo,” he said, “Mr. Van de Werve is inquiring for you, as Miss Van de Werve is about to retire from the company, and Signor Deodati wishes to return home.  He is awaiting you.”

The two gentlemen followed the servant; on the way, Turchi again said in a low voice: 

“To-morrow, between the hours of five and six.”

The old Deodati was already at the door with five or six attendants.  He was displeased by the long absence of his nephew, and was about to remonstrate with him.  But, by Turchi’s explanation, this want of attention was pardoned, and he was even permitted to bid a hasty adieu to Mary and her father.

He returned almost immediately, and offering his arm to his uncle, he left Mr. Van de Werve’s house.

As he moved on, Simon Turchi glanced at him entreatingly, as if to insist upon secrecy.

CHAPTER VI.

SIMON TURCHI WREAKS HIS VENGEANCE ON GERONIMO.

It was about five o’clock in the afternoon.  Julio was seated in one of the rooms of his master’s dwelling, his arms crossed upon his breast.  Absorbed in deep thought, he had his eyes fixed on an arm-chair which stood near the only window in the room, and from time to time he shook his head with an expression of anxious doubt.

The footsteps of a man in the room above interrupted his reflections; an ironical smile passed over his features as he muttered: