“And that is all, Vincenzo?”

“That is all, eccellenza.”

I was silent.  There was something in the simple narration that touched me, though I remained as determinately relentless as ever.  After a few moments I said: 

“You have done well, Vincenzo.  You are aware how grossly this young man has insulted me—­and that his injurious treatment can only be wiped out in one way.  That way is already arranged.  You can set out those pistols you cleaned.”

Vincenzo obeyed—­but as he lifted the heavy case of weapons and set them on the table, he ventured to remark, timidly: 

“The eccellenza knows it is now Christmas-day?”

“I am quite aware of the fact,” I said somewhat frigidly.

In nowise daunted he went on, “Coming back just now I saw the big Nicolo—­the eccellenza has doubtless seen him often?—­he is a vine-grower, and they say he is the largest man in Naples—­three months since he nearly killed his brother—­ebbene!  To-night that same big Nicolo is drinking Chianti with that same brother, and both shouted after me as I passed, ’Hola!  Vincenzo Flamma! all is well between us because it is the blessed Christ’s birthday.’” Vincenzo stopped and regarded me wistfully.

“Well!” I said, calmly, “what has the big Nicolo or his brother to do with me?”

My valet hesitated—­looked up—­then down—­finally he said, simply, “May the saints preserve the eccellenza from all harm!”

I smiled gravely.  “Thank you, my friend!  I understand what you mean.  Have no fear for me.  I am now going to lie down and rest till five o’clock or thereabouts—­and I advise you to do the same.  At that time you can bring me some coffee.”

And I nodded kindly to him as I left him and entered my sleeping apartment, where I threw myself on the bed, dressed as I was.  I had no intention of sleeping—­my mind was too deeply engrossed by all I had gone through.  I could enter into Guido’s feelings—­had I not suffered as he was now suffering?—­nay! more than he—­for he, at any rate, would not be buried alive!  I should take care of that!  He would not have to endure the agony of breaking loose from the cold grasp of the grave to come back to life and find his name slandered, and his vacant place filled up by a usurper.  Do what I would, I could not torture him as much as I myself had been tortured.  That was a pity—­death, sudden and almost painless, seemed too good for him.  I held up my hand in the half light and watched it closely to see if it trembled ever so slightly.  No! it was steady as a rock—­I felt I was sure of my aim.  I would not fire at his heart, I thought but just above it—­for I had to remember one thing—­he must live long enough to recognize me before he died.  That was the sting I reserved for his last moments!  The sick dreams that had bewildered my brain when I was taken ill at the auberge recurred to me.  I remembered the lithe figure, so like Guido, that had glided in