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Updated: May 16, 2025
"It is a high throw," said Zicci, calmly; "nevertheless, Signor Mascari, I do not despond." Mascari gathered up the dice, shook the box, and rolled the contents once more upon the table; the number was the highest that can be thrown, eighteen. The Prince darted a glance of fire at his minion, who stood with gaping mouth staring at the dice, and shaking his head in puzzled wonder.
"Mascari," said the Prince, with a haughty smile, "through these veins rolls the blood of the old Visconti, of those who boasted that no woman ever escaped their lust, and no man their resentment. The crown of my fathers has shrunk into a gewgaw and a toy, their ambition and their spirit are undecayed. My honor is now enlisted in this pursuit: Isabel must be mine."
Mascari muttered some inaudible words, bowed low, and led the way to the chamber in which Isabel was confined. It wanted several minutes of midnight, and Glyndon repaired to the appointed spot.
"Another ambuscade?" said Mascari, inquiringly. "Nay, why not enter the house itself? The situation is lonely, and the door is not made of iron." Before Mascari could reply, the gentleman of the chamber announced the Signor Zicci.
"Mascari," said Zicci, "your patron is no more. Your services will be valueless to his heir, a sober man, whom poverty has preserved from vice. For yourself, thank me that I do not give you up to the executioner, recollect the wine of Cyprus. Well, never tremble, man, it could not act on me, though it might re-act on others, in that it is a common type of crime.
"Is the heir present at our host's banquet?" "No; they are not friends." "No matter; he will be here to-morrow!" Mascari stared in surprise; but the signal for the banquet was given, and the guests were marshalled to the board. As was the custom, the feast took place at midday.
The Prince greeted him with a meaning smile, to which Zicci answered by a whisper: "He who plays with loaded dice does not always win." The Prince bit his lip; and Zicci, passing on, seemed deep in conversation with the fawning Mascari. "Who is the Prince's heir?" asked the Corsican. "A distant relation on the mother's side; with his Excellency dies the male line."
Take three men; the rest shall be my escort." Mascari shrugged his shoulders, and bowed submissively. Meanwhile Glyndon besought Isabel, who recovered but slowly, to return home in his carriage. She had done so once or twice before, though she had never permitted him to accompany her. This time she refused, and with some petulance.
To-night, this very night, she shall be mine! You have arranged all, Mascari?" "All, signor. And if this young Englishman should accompany her home?" "The presuming barbarian! At all events let him bleed for his folly. I hear that she admits him to secret interviews. I will have no rival." "But an Englishman! There is always a search after the bodies of the English." "Fool!
None except Mascari, whom we pushed aside and disdained to hear, strove to conciliate; some took one side, some another. The issue may be well foreseen. Swords were drawn. I had left mine in the ante room; Zicci offered me his own, I seized it eagerly. There might be some six or eight persons engaged in a strange and confused kind of melee, but the Prince and myself only sought each other.
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