"What! it cannot be!" cried Benvenuto, as amazed as a lion might be to find a fox demurring to his will. "No, it cannot be," Pagolo repeated; "I prefer to die: kill me!" The words were hardly out of his mouth when Cellini was upon him. Pagolo saw the dagger gleaming in the air, and threw himself to one side, so swiftly and successfully that the blow which was intended for him simply grazed his shoulder, and the blade, impelled by the goldsmith's powerful hand, penetrated the wainscoting to the depth of several inches. "I consent," cried Pagolo. "Mercy! Cellini, I consent; I am ready to do anything." And while the master was withdrawing the dagger, which had come in contact with the wall behind the wainscoting, he ran to the table where the contract lay, seized the pen, and wrote his name. The whole affair had taken place so rapidly that Scozzone had no time to take part in it. "Thanks, Pagolo," said she, wiping away the tears which terror had brought to her eyes, and at the same time repressing an inclination to smile; "thanks, dear Pagolo, for the honor you consent to confer upon me; but it's better that we should understand each other thoroughly now, so listen to me. Just now you would have none of me, and now I will have none of you. I don't say this to mortify you, Pagolo, but I do not love you, and I desire to remain as I am." "In that case," said Benvenuto, with the utmost coolness, "if you won't have him, Scozzone, he must die." "Why," cried Catherine, "it is I who refuse him." "He must die," rejoined Benvenuto; "it shall not be said that a man insulted me, and went unpunished. Are you ready, Pagolo?" "Catherine," cried the apprentice, "Catherine, in Heaven's name take pity on me! Catherine, I love you! Catherine, I will love you always! Sign, Catherine! Catherine be my wife, I beg you on my knees!" "Come, Scozzone, decide quickly," said Cellini. "Oh!" said Catherine, pouting, "tell me, master, don't you think you are rather hard on me, who have loved you so dearly, and who have dreamed of something so different? But," cried the fickle child, passing suddenly from melancholy to merriment once more, "Mon Dieu! Cellini, see what a piteous face poor Pagolo is making! Oh, for Heaven's sake, put aside that lugubrious expression, Pagolo, or I will never consent to take you for my husband! Really, you are too absurd!" "Save me first, Catherine," said Pagolo; "then we will laugh, if you choose." "Oh well! my poor boy, if you really and truly wish it--" "Yes, indeed I do!" "You know what I have been, you know what I am?" "Yes, I know." "You are not deceived in me?" "No." "You will not regret it?" "No! no!" "Then give me your hand. It's very ridiculous, and I hardly expected it; but, no matter, I am your wife." She took the pen and signed, as a dutiful wife should do, below her husband's signature. "Thanks, Catherine, thanks!" cried Pagolo; "you will see how happy I will make you."