*******

Slowly and with a hesitating step I approached my wife.  She was resting after her exertions in the dance, and reclined languidly in a low velvet chair, chatting gayly with that very Prince de Majano whose honeyed compliments had partly spoiled the budding sweet nature of the youngest girl in the room.  Apologizing for interrupting the conversation, I lowered my voice to a persuasive tenderness as I addressed her.

“Cara, sposina mia! permit me to remind you of your promise.”

What a radiant look she gave me!

“I am all impatience to fulfill it!  Tell me when—­and how?”

“Almost immediately.  You know the private passage through which we entered the hotel this morning on our return from church?”

“Perfectly.”

“Well, meet me there in twenty minutes.  We must avoid being observed as we pass out.  But,” and I touched her delicate dress, “you will wear something warmer than this?”

“I have a long sable cloak that will do,” she replied, brightly.  “We are not going far?”

“No, not far.”

“We shall return in time for supper, of course?”

I bent my head.

“Naturally!”

Her eyes danced mirthfully.

“How romantic it seems!  A moonlight stroll with you will be charming!  Who shall say you are not a sentimental bridegroom?  Is there a bright moon?”

“I believe so.”

“Cosa bellissima!” and she laughed sweetly.  “I look forward to the trip!  In twenty minutes then I shall be with you at the place you name, Cesare; in the meanwhile the Marchese Gualdro claims me for this mazurka.”

And she turned with her bewitching grace of manner to the marchese, who at that moment advanced with his courteous bow and fascinating smile, and I watched them as they glided forward together in the first figure of the elegant Polish dance, in which all lovely women look their loveliest.

Then, checking the curse that rose to my lips, I hurried away.  Up to my own room I rushed with feverish haste, full of impatience to be rid of the disguise I had worn so long.

Within a few minutes I stood before my mirror, transformed into my old self as nearly as it was possible to be.  I could not alter the snowy whiteness of my hair, but a few deft quick strokes of the razor soon divested me of the beard that had given me so elderly an aspect, and nothing remained but the mustache curling slightly up at the corners of the lip, as I had worn it in past days.  I threw aside the dark glasses, and my eyes, densely brilliant, and fringed with the long lashes that had always been their distinguishing feature, shone with all the luster of strong and vigorous youth.  I straightened myself up to my full height, I doubled my fist and felt it hard as iron; I laughed aloud in the triumphant power of my strong manhood.  I thought of the old rag-dealing Jew—­“You could kill anything easily.”  Ay, so I could!—­even without the aid of the straight swift steel of the Milanese dagger which I now drew from its sheath and regarded steadfastly, while I carefully felt the edge of the blade from hilt to point.  Should I take it with me?  I hesitated.  Yes! it might be needed.  I slipped it safely and secretly into my vest.