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The light blinded me; I could not see. Are you not Julio?" This recognition struck Geronimo with terror, and in a feeble and discouraged voice he said: "Julio, Julio, you pushed me into the chair!" Then seeing the dagger in Julio's hands, he shuddered. "A dagger in your hand! Ah! you come to kill me?"
His was the passion that kills, and, nevertheless, he had not attempted the least violence with her. . . . The memory of his consideration was awakening in Marguerite a sentiment of gratitude. Perhaps he had loved her as no other man had. Her eyes, with an irresistible desire for comparison, sought Julio's, admiring his youthful grace and distinction.
By degrees a smile parted his lips; it was evident that the proposed plan met his approval. He opened his purse and put four gold pieces in Julio's hand. "Is that sufficient?" he asked. "You jest, signor," replied the servant. "Four gold pieces for the life of a nobleman!" Simon handed him four more. "Will that do?" he said. "It is not enough yet." "How much will be required?" "I do not know.
Give me money to pay this ruffian, and you need have no anxiety; Bufferio will think that I am acting from personal vengeance; besides, he does not know me. Thus neither of us will be suspected nor accused should the affair prove unsuccessful." Simon seemed surprised by Julio's words, and he remained a few moments in deep thought.
The servants, who could not comprehend their master's anxiety, thought that he might be in some tavern, drowning his feelings with drink and awaiting the night to return home. To this Turchi answered that he had remarked for some time Julio's strange manner, that he seemed so absent-minded, was often heard to sigh and weep in a word, something weighty appeared pressing on his conscience.
The same instinct warned her that Julio's countenance was growing more and more saturnine, and his mouth taking a very bitter curve. She wanted to console him and added: "What luck that you are a foreigner and will not have to go to the war! How horrible it would be for me to lose you!" . . .
His friend Lacour had again spoken to him about the Lauriers. He knew that Marguerite was going to become a mother, and the old man, without taking into account the reconciliation nor the passage of time, felt as much moved at the thought of this approaching maternity as though the child were going to be Julio's.
The father admired the little scrap of gold on the sleeve of the gray cloak, with the skirts buttoning behind, examining afterwards the dark blue cap with its low brim, adopted by the French for the war in the trenches. The traditional kepi had disappeared. A suitable visor, like that of the men in the Spanish infantry, now shadowed Julio's face.
The old blind woman who gave me the amulet as a recompense for delivering her from the hands of the Moslems was Julio's mother. Last night Signor Turchi gave poisoned wine to Julio, who died in my arms, declaring to me that Signor Turchi hired Bufferio to assassinate me. I labored for hours before I succeeded in obtaining egress from the garden.
Saying these words, Julio put down the lamp replaced his dagger in its scabbard, and seated himself on a block of wood which was in a corner of the cellar. Geronimo, overwhelmed by Julio's insensibility, bowed his head upon his breast. For some time he neither spoke nor moved, seeming to accept his fate with complete resignation. But the terror of death again possessed him.
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