The Amulet

A black shadow gliding like an almost impalpable spot, might be seen

moving along the street of Saint John.

Thick clouds covered the sky. Not a star was visible. Here and there--at

the corners of the streets and alleys--flickered a small lamp, lighted

before an image of the Virgin; but these slight flames, far from

diminishing the obscurity, shone in the foggy atmosphere as glowworms in

the woods, which glitter but do not give light.

Silence reigned in the deserted streets. If the inhabitants, behind their

oaken windows, heard occasionally some sound interrupting the stillness of

the night, it was the hurried step of some benighted artisan who made as

much noise as possible with his feet in order to frighten away the

robbers; or it was the slow tread of a highwayman, who, listening

attentively and peering through the darkness, was on the watch for his

prey; or it might be the watchmen, who cried the hour and made the

pavement resound under the stroke of their halberds as if to give

evil-doers a warning of their approach.

The shadow gliding at this moment along the street of St. John was that of

a man completely enveloped in a large cloak, his head so covered by the

hood that his eyes alone were visible. As in passing before an image of

the Virgin a feeble ray from a lamp fell upon him, one might have seen as

he hurried along that his hand rested on the hilt of his sword.

Was this person an evil-doer, bent upon the commission of some crime, or,

fearing danger, was he securing to himself the means of defence?

However that may be, he pursued his way undisturbed and reached a narrow

winding alley, from beneath the ground of which seemed to proceed the

confused noise of many voices.

The man stopped at the entrance of a cellar, to which admission was gained

by a ladder, and listened to the joyous sounds which issued from within.

He put his hand in his pocket and chinked some pieces of money.

"The sign of the Silver Dice!" said he, sighing. "How merry they are!

The dice are rolling upon the table. Shall I not risk a shilling? Only

one?"

Yielding to the irresistible temptation, he placed his foot upon the

ladder; but a sudden thought seemed to arrest him. He sprang back,

trembling, and hastened from the cellar. A little farther in the street he

stopped and murmured in an anxious voice: "Heavens! what was I about to do? Risk the money upon dice? I would

certainly have lost the whole. Pietro Mostajo, do not forget the

Superintendent of Lucca! I am saved. Infernal temptation! I was about to

stake my head. But, perhaps, I would not be unlucky. I might win a

fortune. The temptation returns. No, no, I must go seek Bufferio, and I

have no time to lose. He lives yonder: a low dark door beside the pump."