“He calls me a coward, the dastard that he is!  For one hour he has been running about from room to room as though pursued by invisible spectres.  How cunningly he has devised the whole affair in his own interest.  Julio is to kill poor Geronimo!  Julio is to bury the body in the cellar!  Julio is to do all by himself!  When we deal with false people, we must be on our guard.  His intention is clear enough to me; he wishes to secure means, in case of necessity, of accusing me alone of the crime.  He may threaten and rage as much as he pleases; he shall deal the mortal blow him self, or Geronimo shall leave this place unharmed.”

Julio remained silent for a few moments, passed his hand across his brow, and said, looking at the chair: 

“Think that in one hour that infernal seat will hold a corpse!  The corpse of the most noble, affable gentleman I have ever known.  May his good angel prevent him from visiting this cut-throat place!  Signor Turchi will kill him; but I must aid him.[18] What will be the end of this bloody tragedy?  The scaffold for the master, and the gallows for the servant.  This is the consequence of my disorderly life.  Had I not gone, in a moment of intoxication, and without knowing it, to the place where Judge Voltai was assassinated, I would not have been obliged to fly from my country, and Signor Turchi would not have it in his power to force me to become his accomplice in a frightful crime.  The old cure of Porto-Fino said truly, that ’Sin is a labyrinth; if once we enter, we loose the thread which enables us to return to virtue.’  Ah! would I were with my mother in Italy.  Useless wish.  It is too late; I am banished from my country, and a price set on my head.”

He reflected for a few moments, then, with a gesture of impatience, he resumed: 

“Come, come; of what good are all such thoughts?  I am in his power, and I must yield to necessity; but once let the blow be struck, once let him commit a crime of which I can produce the proofs, then I will be master, and in my turn I will cry in his ears:  ’Simon Turchi, fear the bailiff and the executioner!’ At the present moment I am powerless; if I took any means to prevent the attempt, he might destroy all evidence of his criminal design, and deliver me up to the authorities of Lucca.  I would be taken into Italy and broken on the wheel, in the very place where my poor old mother lives.  I have always been a cause of sorrow to her; at least I will spare her this last disgrace.  But the signor is coming down.  He will reiterate his entreaties to me to strike the fatal blow; but I will not have the blood of this innocent gentleman on me.”

Simon Turchi was approaching.  His face was very pale, but the scar which furrowed his cheek was of a more ashy hue.  He did not tremble, but he walked precipitately, and he clasped his hands convulsively, like a man whose impatience can brook no delay.

He noticed that his servant was in deep thought, his head bowed upon his chest, and it was only on his near approach that Julio suddenly roused from his preoccupation.  He entered the room and said: