till my vengeance was fulfilled.  Oh, what bitter shafts of agony Ferrari carried in his heart at that moment, I thought.  How he had looked when I said she never cared for him!  Poor wretch!  I pitied him even while I rejoiced at his torture.  He suffered now as I had suffered—­he was duped as I had been duped—­and each quiver of his convulsed face and tormented frame had been fraught with satisfaction to me!  Each moment of his life was now a pang to him.  Well! it would soon be over—­thus far at least I was merciful.  I drew out pens and paper and commenced to write a few last instructions, in case the result of the fight should be fatal to me.  I made them very concise and brief—­I knew, while writing, that they would not be needed.  Still—­for the sake of form I wrote—­and sealing the document, I directed it to the Duke di Marina.  I looked at my watch—­it was past one o’clock and Vincenzo had not yet returned.  I went to the window, and drawing back the curtains, surveyed the exquisitely peaceful scene that lay before me.  The moon was still high and bright—­and her reflection made the waters of the bay appear like a warrior’s coat of mail woven from a thousand glittering links of polished steel.  Here and there, from the masts of anchored brigs and fishing-boats gleamed a few red and green lights burning dimly like fallen and expiring stars.  There was a heavy unnatural silence everywhere—­it oppressed me, and I threw the window wide open for air.  Then came the sound of bells chiming softly.  People passed to and fro with quiet footsteps—­some paused to exchange friendly greetings.  I remembered the day with a sort of pang at my heart.  The night was over, though as yet there was no sign of dawn—­and—­it was Christmas morning!

CHAPTER XXV.

The opening of the room door aroused me from my meditations.  I turned—­to find Vincenzo standing near me, hat in hand—­he had just entered.

“Ebbene!” I said, with a cheerful air—­“what news?”

“Eccellenza, you have been obeyed.  The young Signor Ferrari is now at his studio.”

“You left him there?”

“Yes, eccellenza”—­and Vincenzo proceeded to give me a graphic account of his adventures.  On leaving the banqueting-room, Ferrari had taken a carriage and driven straight to the Villa Romani—­ Vincenzo, unperceived, had swung himself on to the back of the vehicle and had gone also.

“Arriving there,” continued my valet, “he dismissed the fiacre—­and rang the gate-bell furiously six or seven times.  No one answered.  I hid myself among the trees and watched.  There were no lights in the villa windows—­all was darkness.  He rang it again—­he even shook the gate as though he would break it open.  At last the poor Giacomo came, half undressed and holding a lantern in his hand—­he seemed terrified, and trembled so much that the lantern jogged up and down like a corpse-candle on a tomb.