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Updated: June 18, 2025
He too uttered a shriek and rushed out, running home, home as quick as possible, without looking round, repeating prayers and crossing himself as he ran. Three hours later, Antonio came to him with the announcement that everything was ready, the things were packed, and Signor Muzzio was preparing to start.
When Muzzio had finished, and still keeping fast the violin between his chin and his shoulder, dropped the hand that held the bow, 'What is that? What is that you have been playing to us? cried Fabio. Valeria uttered not a word but her whole being seemed echoing her husband's question.
She held out both hands to her husband. 'And we will never speak of him, never, do you hear, my dear one? And I will not leave my room till he is gone. And do you now send me my maids ... but stay: take away that thing! she pointed to the pearl necklace, lying on a little bedside table, the necklace given her by Muzzio, 'and throw it at once into our deepest well. Embrace me.
With Muzzio, she occupied herself with music; but she talked more with Fabio, with him she was less timid. At last, they resolved to learn once for all their fate, and sent a letter to Valeria, in which they begged her to be open with them, and to say to which she would be ready to give her hand.
Immediately after breakfast, Muzzio too went away, explaining that he had to be in Ferrara on business, and that he would not be back before the evening. A few weeks before Muzzio's return, Fabio had begun a portrait of his wife, depicting her with the attributes of Saint Cecilia.
Unutterable fury filled Fabio's breast with a sudden inrush. 'Accursed sorcerer! he shrieked furiously, and seizing Muzzio by the throat with one hand, with the other he felt for the dagger in his girdle, and plunged the blade into his side up to the hilt.
They will inquire, What for? on what ground?... But if Muzzio were not dead? Fabio could not endure to remain longer in uncertainty, and satisfying himself that Valeria was asleep, he cautiously got up from his chair, went out of the house, and made his way to the pavilion. Everything was still in it; only in one window a light was visible.
At supper Muzzio regaled his friends with wine of Shiraz from a round long-necked flagon; it was of extraordinary fragrance and thickness, of a golden colour with a shade of green in it, and it shone with a strange brightness as it was poured into the tiny jasper goblets.
And behold, one fine summer evening, unexpected by every one, Muzzio returned to Ferrara. During the whole space of five years that had elapsed since his departure no one had heard anything of him; all talk about him had died away, as though he had vanished from the face of the earth.
Around each bowl was coiled a small snake of brazen hue, with golden eyes that flashed from time to time; while directly facing Muzzio, two paces from him, rose the long figure of the Malay, wrapt in a mantle of many-coloured brocade, girt round the waist with a tiger's tail, with a high hat of the shape of a pointed tiara on his head.
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