He approached a large wardrobe, took from it a bottle, poured out a large
glass of wine and drank it. Lighted by the lamp, he descended the
staircase and approached the cellar; but before proceeding through the
subterranean passage, he hesitated and stepped back: "Singular!" he said; "I am overpowered by fear! I recoil in terror before
that dark cave, as though the dead could arise from the grave to take
revenge. What! I had the courage to stab him while living, and yet I
tremble upon approaching the spot where lie his inanimate remains! Away
with this childish terror!"
However bold his words, the Signor Turchi did not become calm, and his
heart beat violently as he again slowly approached the entrance to the
cellar. He hesitated an instant, as he looked down the long, dark passage,
but was about to proceed, when a noise outside the building made him shake
with fear.
"What can it be? Am I not mistaken? Some one unlocks the garden-gate! Will
I be found here? Am I betrayed?"
After a moment of torturing doubt he fled from the cellar to his room, his
hair bristling with terror.
"They open the door of the house! They are within! They come! Great
heavens! What can it mean?"
A man appeared on the threshold of the room in which Simon Turchi had
taken refuge.
"Julio! it is Julio!" exclaimed Simon, in despair.
The servant reeled under the influence of liquor. His cheeks were flushed,
his eyes wandering, and while the smile upon his lips indicated a
disagreeable surprise at the presence of his master, it also said plainly
that he feared not Simon's anger. He held in his hand a small wheaten
loaf, but he hid it hastily under his doublet as if unwilling for Turchi
to see it.
Casting upon him a look of fury, Simon Turchi sprang to his feet, clenched
his fist, and exclaimed in a rage: "This is too much! Infamous traitor! cowardly rascal! whence do you come?
Does hell itself bring you here for the destruction of both of us? Speak,
base drunkard, and tell me why you are here! Quick, or I will stretch you
dead at my feet. I thirst for your blood."
Julio drew his knife from the scabbard and stammered, in a voice
indistinct from intoxication: "Wait awhile, signor. Wine, good wine has dulled my senses. You want to
kill me? It would be very fortunate for one of us to die here--the
executioner would have less work. But which of us must first render our
account before the supreme tribunal, my knife and your dagger will decide.
I am ready."