The Amulet

After having accompanied Deodati to his residence, Simon Turchi went to

his own dwelling near the bridge De la Vigne.

He was greatly excited, either by extreme anxiety or by a feverish

impatience; for he descended to the ground-floor, entered his office,

pretended to be looking for some papers, went up stairs again, paced the

room, opened the window, looked up and down the street, closed the window

petulantly, and at last, stamping his foot, he angrily exclaimed: "The miserable gamester! he is in some tavern drinking, gambling, amusing

himself, while I am here on burning coals, almost overpowered by anxiety

and terror! Julio, Julio, if I escape the fate which now threatens me, I

will have my revenge for your ingratitude!"

Again he went to the window, and again he was disappointed. Thoroughly

discouraged, he threw himself upon a chair, heaved a heavy sigh, and after

a moment's silence exclaimed in accents of despair: "Alas! alas! is it then true that my crime cannot remain concealed? Who

was it, to my great misfortune, who sent the Dominican brother just to the

spot to meet Geronimo, and thus furnished the bailiff with a clue to the

murder? Who put the Jewish banker on his track, so that the constables

might be led to my garden? Who suggested the idea to the bailiff to search

the cellars? Was it chance? But chance is blind, and does not proceed

with such precision to the fulfilment of a purpose. How frightful if God

himself conducted justice! if the Supreme Judge, who cannot be deceived,

has condemned me to an infamous death! How vain then all hope, all effort

to escape!"

Overpowered by these reflections, Simon Turchi bowed his head upon his

breast; his hands worked convulsively, and at intervals heart-rending

sighs escaped him.

Confusedly arose before him a horrible vision: he saw the scaffold

erected; he beheld the sword of the executioner glitter in the sunlight;

he heard the shouts of the populace calling down the vengeance of heaven

upon his guilty head and devoting his name to eternal infamy; he seemed to

feel the mysterious stroke from the uplifted blade, for his frame shook

violently, and he uttered a piercing cry of anguish.

He thrust his hand into his doublet, and drew from it slowly a small phial

half filled with a yellow liquid, and held it before him with a shudder of

disgust and horror.

"Poison, deadly poison!" he muttered. "He who has the courage to take a

few drops will sleep a sweet sleep from which there is no awakening. And

is this my only refuge from the ignominy of the scaffold? Instead of

wealth and happiness, is a miserable death to be the price of my crime?

No, no; I must chase away these horrible thoughts."