Amulet

  CHAPTER V.

  VAN DE WERVE'S RECEPTION--SIMON TURCHI'S JEALOUSY AND HATRED.

  Mr. Van de Werve, whose large fortune justified a lavish expenditure, wasaccustomed to receive at his residence every month the principal gentlemenof Antwerp, strangers as well as citizens. His love for art and scienceinduced him to bring together the best artists and the most noted literarymen of the day with the high-born, wealthy, and influential members ofsociety at Antwerp; and his house had become the rendezvous of all thatwas excellent and celebrated in the city.

  Nearly the whole of the anterior part of the house was occupied by a vasthall, called the _Ancestral Hall_, because it was decorated by numberlesssouvenirs of his illustrious family. The walls, for a certain distancewere sculptured in oak wood, so artistically designed, and so delicatelywrought, that at the first glance it looked like embroidery in variouscolors. To produce this effect, the natural brown of the oak had been leftin some places. All the rest shone with gold and silver, which wasrelieved by a beautiful scarlet, brilliant yellow, and the softestsky-blue. The many small figures scattered over the ornaments were highlygilded. From the wooden wainscot arose slight pillars, which, uniting inthe Gothic style, supported the heavy beams of the ceiling. Six of thesebeams were visible: all were covered with highly colored sculptures. Theirdecorations harmonized with, those of the wainscot, and seemed anexpansion of it, as though the architect wished the exquisite ornaments ofthe beams of the ceiling to be considered a luxuriant verdure, springingfrom trunks rooted in the oaken wainscot.

  The escutcheon of the Van de Werve family, together with the familiesallied to them, was artistically sculptured in the wood. The emblems anddevices were in profusion: lions, wild boars, eagles, ermines, bands andcrosses of gold, silver, green, and blue quartz, so numerous andsparkling, that when the noonday sun penetrated into the hall, the eyecould with difficulty bear the dazzling magnificence.

  The armorial bearings of the Van de Werves, Lords of Schilde, painted inlarger proportions than the others, were at the extremity of the hall.They consisted of a black boar on a field of gold, quartered by threechevrons of silver on black, surmounted by a helmet ornamented bymantlings of black and gold, and above this was a boar's head.

  Around these family arms shone a large number of escutcheons of smallersize; among others, the coat of arms of the Wyneghem, the Van Immerseel,the Van Wilre, the Van Mildert, the Van Coolput, the Van Bruloch, and theVan Zymaer, families the most nearly related to that of Van de Werve.

  Above the wainscot, within the niches formed by the pillars, hung theportraits of some of the most illustrious ancestors of William Van deWerve, as well as his own, in which he was represented as captain of aGerman company in the service of Charles V.

  The portraits did not occupy all the panels formed in the richly carvedoak. In a large number appeared valuable paintings from the pencil of themost celebrated masters of Netherlands. The eye rested on the creations ofthe immortal brothers Van Eyck, the touching Quintin Massys, theintellectual Roger Van der Weydens, the spiritual Jerome Bosch, thelaborious Lucas de Leyde, and others whose names were favorably mentionedin the world of art.

  In a corner of the room, beside the fireplace, stood a piano richlyenamelled in woods of different colors, and upon it lay two lutes and aviolin--a proof that the charming art of music was cultivated by thefamily of Mr. Van de Werve.

  From the ceiling were suspended six gilded chandeliers; on the mantelpiecewere two candelabras; along the walls, where the pillars formedprojections, numerous sconces were fastened; and when Mr. Van de Wervereceived his friends in the evening, the reflection of the numberless waxcandles from the many gold and silver ornaments gave a princely air to thehall.

  Three days after the attempted assassination of Geronimo by the ruffianBufferio, Mr. Van de Werve was to entertain his friends in the evening, itbeing the time appointed for their reunion. Although he had been deeplymoved by the murderous assault, and his daughter Mary had scarcelyrecovered from the shock, he had not withdrawn the invitations, hopingthat the social gathering might help to dissipate painful thoughts.

  At the appointed hour the dwelling of Mr. Van de Werve was in a blaze oflight. The large double door was thrown open, and in the vast hall werecrowds of domestics, the attendants of the guests who had already arrived.

  The large parlor was filled with persons of different conditions and ages.There were, however, only men present, for this evening was by a previousarrangement to be devoted to artists, men of letters, and notable men ofcommerce.

  The first salutations had been exchanged among the guests of Mr. Van deWerve; they had separated according to their pleasure in different groups,and were engaged in cordial and familiar conversation.

  Five or six of the more aged were seated near a table examining some newworks which excited their admiration; others, whose more simple attireproclaimed them to be artists, were showing each other their designs;another party, evidently formed of young noblemen, surrounded Geronimo,and were asking particulars of the recent attempt upon his life.

  At the end of the room, not far from the fireplace, were collected theforeigners who were engaged in commerce at Antwerp. Although they hadassembled for amusement, they were conversing, through habit, upon theexpected arrival of vessels, and the price of gold and different kinds ofmerchandise. Among these foreigners was to be seen every description ofcostume, and every variety of tongue could be heard. The Spaniard foundhimself beside a native of Lucca, the Portuguese near the Florentine, theEnglish with the Genoese, the German next to the Venetian; and, as onChange at Antwerp, they found means to understand each other.

  Mr. Van de Werve had at first remained near the door in order to welcomehis guests as they entered; but supposing that the greater part of thoseinvited had arrived, he left this place and was walking from group togroup, joining in conversation for a few moments, and saying some pleasantwords to each.

  The old Deodati had seated himself in an arm-chair apart. So many hadwelcomed him on his arrival at Antwerp, and he had been the object of somuch polite attention, that, being fatigued from standing and talking, hewas now seeking some repose.

  By his side was Simon Turchi, conversing familiarly and in a low tone withthe old man. The hypocrite feigned an extraordinary affection for thevenerable nobleman, and flattered him by every expression of respect andesteem. They had already spoken of the attempted assassination, and SimonTurchi had expressed his astonishment, for he did not believe thatGeronimo had an enemy in the world. It was quite likely that Bufferio hadmade a mistake as to the individual, a thing which might easily havehappened in so dark a night.

  While Simon Turchi, with apparent calmness, thus conversed with the oldgentleman, he was evidently meditating some wicked design; for whiletalking, his eyes incessantly wandered to Geronimo, and he endeavored todivine from his countenance the subject of his conversation. He did notfor one instant lose sight of Mary's betrothed.

  After speaking of the assassination, the old Deodati glanced around theroom upon the different groups of guests, and he asked Turchi:

  "Who is the gentleman in purple velvet, who is the object of such markedrespect from the merchants around him? I do not mean the tall old man, Iam acquainted with him, he is the rich Fugger of Augsburg; I am speakingof the one who stands beside him."

  "He is a banker, signor," replied Simon Turchi. "He is very rich, and hisname is Lazarus Tucher. The gentleman before him is the head of the houseof the Hochstetter. The gentlemen conversing with him belong to thedistinguished commercial houses of the Gigli, the Spignoli, and theGualterotti. A little apart, and behind them, is Don Pezoa, thesuperintendent of the king of Portugal; he is speaking with Diego d'Aro,and Antonio de Vaglio, superintendents from Spain. The gentlemen near themare Italian and Portuguese merchants, whose names I could tell you, for Iknow them all, but such details would not interest you."

  "I am indebted to you for your kindness, Signor Turchi," replied Deodati."My nephew, Geronimo, would give me
all this information, but he issurrounded by his young friends, and as he sees me with you, he isundoubtedly convinced that I could not be in better or more agreeablecompany. Have the kindness to tell me the name of the fine-looking old manseated near the table, and to give me some information regarding those whoare listening to him with so much attention."

  "Around the table, signor, are the most learned men of Netherlands. Thatgray-headed orator is the old Graphaeus, secretary of the city of Antwerp,and the author of several well written Latin works. The young man, onwhose shoulder he leans, is his son, Alexander, who is also very learned.Before him is seated Abraham Ortelius, the great geographer, who isregarded as the Ptolemy of his age. Beside Ortelius is his friend andfellow-laborer Gerard, also a learned geographer, and one of theluminaries of the day. The only one whose dress indicates his Italianbirth is Louis Guicciardini, a Florentine gentleman, who is here for thepurpose of collecting materials for an extensive work on the LowCountries, and particularly on the powerful commercial city of Antwerp.The gentleman plainly dressed, with a black beard, holding a book in hishand, is Christopher Plantin; he is engaged in establishing at Antwerp aprinting-press of great importance. Its dimensions are so large that itwill occupy the ground on which several spacious houses now stand;hundreds of workmen will be employed all day in composing, correcting, andprinting books in every civilized tongue. You must not fail, signor, tovisit the building; even in its unfinished state it will cause youastonishment."

  "The Netherlands is a favored country," said the old Deodati. "If theclimate is not as mild as in our own beautiful Italy, the men are bold,active, intelligent, industrious, and learned, and they possess all thequalifications requisite for the material prosperity and moral progress ofa nation. I am surprised to see you, who are a foreigner, as wellacquainted with the inhabitants as a native."

  "I have lived here many years," replied Turchi. "These gentlemen arefrequent visitors at the house of Mr. Van de Werve, and I have seen themso often, that I know them as old friends. Look at the corner near thepiano, where those collected together laugh merrily, jest, and chatsocially. You may easily recognize them by their light playful manners asartists."

  "Yes. Is not that handsome man with noble features Frans Floris, theFlemish Raphael?"

  "Yes; he was presented to you yesterday by Mr. Van de Werve, and you mayremember how enthusiastically he eulogized Italian art."

  "Near him is a singular-looking person; his very attitude is amusing, andhis gestures force one to laugh."

  "He is Peter Breughel, a humorist, who so designs his pictures that theyseem painted only by way of jest. He is, however, in good repute as anartist. I saw recently one of his pictures in which he represents theSaviour carrying his cross to Calvary. In this he represents pilgrims withtheir staves, Spanish soldiers in doublets, monks and nuns; there is evena statue of the Blessed Virgin suspended on a tree, and that at a timewhen there was no Christianity, no Saint James of Compostella, neitherconvents nor Spaniards."

  "That is indeed singular," said Deodati, smiling. "It seems to me thatsuch conceits do but very little honor to the artist. Is it a custom amongother artists in the Netherlands to sport thus with holy things?"

  "No; Signor Breughel is an exception. The other gentlemen in company withthe Flemish Raphael are more serious men. Michael Coxie, whom you maydistinguish by the gray doublet, excels in his portraits of women. Thehandsome young man standing behind him is Martin de Vos, a pupil ofFloris; he evinces a high order of talent and gives promise of greatperfection in his art. The others, as well as I can recognize them at thisdistance, are Lambert Van Noord, Egide Mostaert, William Key, Bernard deRycke, and the two brothers Henry and Martin Van Cleef, all celebratedhistorical, fancy, or portrait painters. Near them is Master Grimmer, afamous landscape-painter; and the gentleman now speaking is a certain Ackof Antwerp, who has painted the large glass windows of the church of SaintGudula at Brussels. The old man sitting apart near the piano is Christian;he has marvellous skill in playing on many instruments, but he excels moston the violin. You will probably hear him this evening."

  Simon Turchi continued to converse familiarly with the Signor Deodati, whowas charmed with his intelligence, but still more with the kindconsideration which made him refrain from joining in the generalconversation in order to entertain an old man.

  Geronimo had several times approached his uncle, but each time the latterhad playfully sent him away, telling him that the agreeable company of theSignor Turchi sufficed for him, and that he preferred a quietconversation.

  In the meantime the conversation among the guests had become more general.Noblemen and bankers, merchants and literary men, manufacturers andartists, were mingling with each other; rank and condition weredisregarded, and the animated conversation of the company resoundedthrough the hall like the humming of a swarm of bees.

  At this moment the servants entered, bringing silver waiters on which werewines of every description, pastry, cakes, rare fruits, and otherrefreshments.

  They passed through the room offering the wines to the guests.

  "Gentlemen, a glass of Malmsey, Rhenish wine, claret, sherry, Muscatel?"

  Whilst these delicious drinks and delicacies were thus distributed,Geronimo never lost sight of Mr. Van de Werve, but observed him with aneye full of hope and expectation.

  When at last he saw Mr. Van de Werve leave the room, a bright smileillumined his face. Geronimo knew that Mr. Van de Werve sometimesgratified his friends and acquaintances by allowing his beautiful daughterto be present at their evening reunion for about an hour, and he had beenimpatiently awaiting the moment when the young girl would appear.

  Simon Turchi, although apparently so unmoved, had constantly watchedMary's betrothed, noticed the radiant expression of his countenance, andunderstood the cause.

  Mary was coming! Perhaps the whole company would know that his suit hadbeen rejected, and that Geronimo had succeeded where the powerfuladministrator of the house of Buonvisi had failed!

  This thought deeply wounded his pride. He scowled at Geronimo, who waslooking in another direction. Rage and jealousy goaded him almost tomadness; he felt that the scar on his face, by its deepening hue, wouldbetray his emotion, and to conceal it he covered his eyes with his hand.

  Deodati asked him with interest:

  "What is the matter, Signor Turchi? Are you ill?"

  "The heat is intolerable," said Simon, endeavoring to master his feelings.

  "Heat?" murmured Deodati; "it does not seem to me very warm. Shall Iaccompany you for a few moments to the garden, signor?"

  But Turchi raised his head, and smiling in an unconcerned manner, said:

  "Many thanks, signor, for your kindness. I feel much better. I had beenlooking too long at the large lustre, and its brilliant light made medizzy. But let us rise, signor, there is the beautiful Mary, _la biondamaraviglia_!"

  Mr. Van de Werve appeared at this moment at the door, and introduced hisbeloved child. A murmur of admiration ran through the assembly, and roomwas made for the father and daughter.

  The beauty of Mary surpassed all expectation. Her dress consisted of aflowing robe of silver-colored satin, with no other ornament than a girdleof gold thread. Her own blonde hair was arranged around her head in theform of a crown, in the centre of which were placed some white flowersfastened by choice pearls. But the admiration of the spectators wasexcited by her large blue eyes, her brilliant complexion, the dignifiedsweetness of her expression, the gentle, innocent, modest smile whichmirrored on her face the peace and joy of her soul.

  Geronimo had never before seen Mary dressed in this style. On thecontrary, she generally wore dark or unobtrusive colors. Decked as she nowwas in pure white, she had the appearance of a bride. It was, of course,by her father's request; but what did it mean? Did he intend by this tomake it known that Mary was betrothed, and would soon be wedded? Suchthoughts as these agitated Geronimo as the young girl accompanied herfather into the room.

  The old Deodati rose a
nd advanced to meet her. Simon Turchi took advantageof this movement to retire a short distance; for, as his eye fell on thebeautiful girl, rage filled his heart as he reflected that this noble andpure woman would have been his wife had not Geronimo blasted the happinessof his life.

  The lightning-like glance of hate and envy which he cast upon Geronimo wasa sinister menace of death. Happily for him, all eyes were turned towardsthe young girl, otherwise many a one might have read the dark soul ofSimon Turchi and discovered the horrible design he had conceived.

  Mr. Van de Werve introduced his daughter to his guests. All expressed incourteous terms their admiration and their pleasure in her society.

  The noble young girl received the felicitations and compliments addressedto her with a gentle and dignified self-possession. There were in hermanner and tone of voice a rare modesty and reserve, and at the same timean exquisite politeness. Still more astonishing was her rich and variedknowledge. Whether conversing with a Spaniard, Frenchman, Italian, orGerman, she spoke to each in his own tongue; but the beautiful Italianlanguage assumed additional sweetness on her lips.

  When presented to the old Deodati, she took both his hands and spoke tohim so tenderly and affectionately that, overcome by emotion, he couldonly say a few grateful words in acknowledgment.

  Passing by Simon Turchi, she said cheerfully:

  "God be praised, Signor Turchi, that your health is so soon restored! I amhappy to see you here this evening. I am sincerely grateful to you,signor, for the friendship you manifest to the nephew of Signor Deodati.You have a good and generous heart, and I thank God for having given sodevoted a friend to Geronimo and his uncle!"

  The gentle words of the young girl were intolerable torture to Turchi; thewound on his face, betraying his emotion, became of a deep-red color. Andyet it was absolutely necessary for him to appear calm, and to replycordially to the kind salutation of the young girl; for there were atleast twenty persons near him and within hearing of what passed.

  By a powerful effort he mastered his emotion, referring it to theimpression made upon him by her appearance. He spoke also of sacrifices,which, even when voluntarily made, painfully wound the heart; of aself-abnegation which could find its consolation in the happiness of afriend, but which failed not to leave a sting in the soul that hadcherished fallacious hopes.

  Mary understood him, and was grateful for his kindness.

  "Thanks, thanks, signor," she said, warmly, as she passed on to saluteother guests.

  When Mary approached the piano, and addressed a few kind words to MasterChristian, many Italian gentlemen begged her to favor them with a_canzone_.

  With her father's permission, the young girl consented to gratify theguests. She hesitated awhile as to the language in which to sing, and wasturning over the leaves of a book handed her by Master Christian. The oldDeodati expressed a wish to hear a song in the language of the LowCountries, and begging pardon of the Italian gentlemen, Mary said shewould sing a _Kyrie Eleison_ in her maternal tongue.

  Master Christian seated himself at the piano, to accompany her, andcommenced a prelude.

  The first notes of the young girl were like a gentle murmur. By degreesher voice became firmer and stronger, until at the end of each strophe theword _eleison_ rose like a sonorous hymn to heaven.

  The measure was remarkably slow, simple, and full of a tranquil melody.Mary evidently felt the peculiar character of this chant, for instead ofendeavoring to add to the effect, she softened still more her singularlysweet voice, and let the words drop slowly from her lips, as if thesongstress herself were ravished in contemplation and was listening tocelestial music.

  At first the Italian gentlemen exchanged glances, as if to express thethought that this chant could not compare with the brilliant lively styleof the Italian music. But this unfavorable opinion was not of longduration. They, like all others, soon yielded to the irresistiblefascination of Mary's exquisite voice. They listened with such raptattention that not the slightest movement was made in the room, and onemight have heard the murmur of the leaves in the garden as they weregently stirred by the breeze of May.

  Mary had concluded her song and lifted her eyes to heaven with anexpression of adoration. All who gazed upon her felt as though they werecontemplating an angel before the throne of God. Even Simon Turchi wassubdued by admiration, and he even momentarily lost sight of the hatredand jealousy which lacerated his heart.

  Mary thus sang:

  Kyrie! Lo, our God comes, Mankind to save from ill and bless: What grateful joy should break our gloom And fill our hearts with happiness!

  Kyrie eleison!--God is born! A virgin mother gives him birth; And sin's dark bonds asunder torn, Sweet heaven again inclines to earth.

  Kyrie!--hear!--the sacred font

  Pours forth its saving waters free-- And Thou impressest on our front The sign that drives our foes away.

  Christe!--anointed victim!--Thou, Who in thy death bestowest life-- The healing remedy for woe-- Ah! earth with many a woe is rife.

  Christe eleison!--brother dear-- Our liberator from all ill-- Strong in Thy virtue, free from fear, And be our help to virtue still.

  Christe eleison! God and man-- Our only consolation here-- Oh! do not leave us 'neath the ban Of sorrow perilous and drear.

  Oh! Kyrie, Father--Kyrie Son-- Kyrie Spirit--we adore The Triune God--Thee, only One! Grant we may praise Thee evermore!

  Silence reigned in the room some moments after the last sound had diedaway, and then arose a murmur of admiration, and the young girl wasoverwhelmed with felicitations.

  Whilst being thus complimented, Mary noticed Geronimo at a little distancefrom her. Desirous, perhaps, of escaping the praises lavished upon her,or, it may be, yielding to a real desire, she approached the young man,drew him towards the piano, and insisted upon his singing an Italian aria.

  Geronimo at first refused, but his uncle requested him to yield to theentreaties of the young girl. Taking up a lute, he hastily tuned it, andsang the first word of the aria _Italia!_ in such a tone of enthusiasmthat it struck a responsive chord in every Italian heart. The notes fellfrom his lips like a shower of brilliant stars; his bosom heaved, his eyessparkled, and his rich tenor voice filling the hall produced anindescribable effect upon the auditors. As his song proceeded, it seemedto gain in expression and vigor, and as he repeated the refrain _Mia bellaItalia!_ for the last time, his compatriots were so carried away by theirenthusiasm that, forgetful of decorum, all, even the most aged, wavedtheir caps, exclaiming:

  "_Italia! Italia!_"

  Tears stood in the eyes of many.

  Geronimo was complimented by all present. His uncle called him his belovedson, Mary spoke to him in the most flattering manner, and Mr. Van de Werveshook hands with him cordially.

  As to Simon Turchi, he was overpowered; all he had just seen and heard wassuch a martyrdom; jealousy so gnawed his heart that he sank deeper anddeeper into the abyss of hatred and vengeance. He stood a few steps fromGeronimo, his eyes downcast, and trembling with emotion.

  No one noticed him. Had he attracted attention, his friends would havesupposed that, like the other Italians, he had been moved by the chant ofhis compatriot.

  Turchi soon roused himself. Like a man who has taken a sudden resolution,he walked up to Geronimo, smiled pleasantly, and threw his arms around hisneck.

  "Thanks, thanks, Geronimo!" he exclaimed. "You have made me truly happy bygiving me additional cause to be proud of my country."

  While embracing him, he also whispered:

  "Geronimo, I wish to speak privately to you this evening. I will go to thegarden presently; try to follow me; you will be pleased."

  Having said these words, he fell back as if to make way for Mr. Fugger,the rich banker, who wished to offer his congratulations.

  The servants reappeared in the hall with wines and various delicacies.

  Master Christian was tuning his violin. The guests, informed that
thisexcellent artist was about to entertain them with his wonderful skill,drew near the piano.

  Geronimo, perplexed by the words of Simon Turchi, watched his friend andsought an opportunity to speak to him alone. He saw him leave the room,and as the entrance of the servants with refreshments, and the desire ofthe guests to approach Master Christian, had caused a stir among thecompany, the young man was enabled to rejoin Simon in the garden.

  The garden, situated in the rear of the house, although not large, wascrossed by several winding paths, and along the wall were wide-spreadingtrees and blocks of verdure.

  When Geronimo entered the garden, he perceived several persons who hadleft the heated apartment to enjoy the fresh air, and who were walking indifferent directions.

  As he was seeking in the dim light to distinguish Simon Turchi, the latterapproached from an arbor, took his arm and led him in silence to a retiredpart of the garden, where he seated himself on a bench, and said in lowtone:

  "Sit down, Geronimo! I have good news for you."

  "Ah! have you succeeded in obtaining the money?"

  "I have been successful. But come nearer! no one must overhear us. Aforeign merchant, whom I saved two years ago from dishonor and ruin, atthe risk of my own destruction, will furnish me with the means ofreturning you the ten thousand crowns."

  "God be praised!" said Geronimo, with a sigh of relief. "He will not longdelay, I hope, to fulfil his generous designs."

  "I will pay you to-morrow what I owe you."

  "To-morrow? how fortunate!"

  "But, Geronimo, I cannot bring you the money; you must come for ityourself."

  "It would be a trifle were I obliged to go to Cologne."

  "You need not go so far. Only go to my country-seat near the hospital.Silence! some one approaches!"

  After a moment's silence, Turchi resumed:

  "He has passed. You must know, Geronimo, that the foreign merchant desireshis presence in Antwerp to remain unknown, and I have promised to keep himconcealed in my garden for several days.[17] He wishes to assist me, buthe is over-prudent and distrustful. I will sign the receipt for the sum helends me. He requires, for greater security, that you sign it also."

  "What mystery is this?" said the young man. "I must sign with you forsecurity! Who is this merchant? Is he a fugitive from justice?"

  "What has that to do with the affair? It is not my secret, Geronimo, and Ipromised to conceal his name. If you be saved from your presentembarrassment, will you not have attained your object? It is true that youwill be my security, but the ten thousand crowns will be in the moneyvault, and your uncle will not find one florin missing. Your only dangerwould arise from an inability on my part to meet the note. But you needfear nothing in that respect. In a few months my resources will beabundant. I take this step only to save you from a present imminentdanger. You must know, Geronimo, that I would prefer to have you alone formy creditor."

  "Certainly, Simon, and I am most grateful to you for your kindness. Willthis merchant give me the amount in coin?"

  "No, but in bills of exchange on Milan, Florence, and Lucca."

  "Good and reliable bills, Simon?"

  "You shall be the judge before accepting them. Fear nothing, you shall befully satisfied."

  "Well, I will go. After Change, between five and six o'clock, will thatanswer?"

  "It makes no difference to me, provided I know the hour beforehand."

  "Expect me, then, to-morrow, between five and six o'clock. But let usreturn to the house. Our long absence might cause remark."

  Simon Turchi arose, but remained standing in the same spot, and said:

  "Geronimo, I have promised the merchant that none but yourself shall knowof his presence in Antwerp. Say nothing, therefore, to your uncle, toMary, nor to any one else. The least indiscretion might disarrange ourplans, and be perilous to the stranger. Come alone, without anyattendant."

  "I will do as you direct," said Geronimo, "but it will be impossible forme to remain until dark. My uncle will be seriously displeased if I go outagain at night without a sufficient guard."

  "I will not detain you over half an hour."

  At that moment a servant from the house entered the garden looking forGeronimo.

  "Signor Geronimo," he said, "Mr. Van de Werve is inquiring for you, asMiss Van de Werve is about to retire from the company, and Signor Deodatiwishes to return home. He is awaiting you."

  The two gentlemen followed the servant; on the way, Turchi again said in alow voice:

  "To-morrow, between the hours of five and six."

  The old Deodati was already at the door with five or six attendants. Hewas displeased by the long absence of his nephew, and was about toremonstrate with him. But, by Turchi's explanation, this want of attentionwas pardoned, and he was even permitted to bid a hasty adieu to Mary andher father.

  He returned almost immediately, and offering his arm to his uncle, heleft Mr. Van de Werve's house.

  As he moved on, Simon Turchi glanced at him entreatingly, as if to insistupon secrecy.