"As soon as Lorenzo can rejoin the King of France, he is safe," rejoined the Count, "and methinks, till then, I can take care of him. I know the look of a poisoner or assassin at a street's distance. Only let us look to his wound; I have known one of the same scratches end a good strong man's life in a few hours." "So say I," answered Ramiro, "but I will go out and walk upon the terrace. I feel not disposed to sleep. If you should want me, call me in. I know something of poisons and their antidotes; I studied them when I was in Padua; for, in this life, no one knows how often one may be called upon to practise such chirurgy on his own behalf." Thus saying, he left the Count de Rovera, and while the other, half dressed as he was, hurried up to Lorenzo's chamber, Ramiro, with his usual calm and almost noiseless step, went forth and walked the terrace up and down. For more than an hour he paced it from end to end, with all his thoughts turned inward. "A distant cousin of this King of France," he thought, "and almost german to his apparent heir! Wealthy himself and full of high courage! The lad must rise--ay, high, high! He has it in his look. Such are the men upon whose rising fortunes one should take hold, and be carried up with them. It was surely Leonora's voice I heard talking with him from the windows. If so, fortune has arranged all well; yet one must be careful--no too rapid steps. We fly from that which seeks us--run after that which flies. I will mark them both well, and shut my eyes, and let things take their course, or else raise some small difficulties, soon overleaped, to give the young lover fresh ardour in the chase. Pity he is so young--and yet no pity either. It will afford us time to see how far he reaches." With such thoughts as these he occupied himself so deeply that his eyes were seldom raised from the ground on which he trod. At length, however, he looked up toward the windows; and there was one in which the lights still burned, while figures might be seen, from time to time, passing across. "That must be his chamber," said Ramiro to himself. "I fear the blade was poisoned, and that it has had some effect. I must go and see. 'Twere most unlucky such a chance should escape me. Let me see; where is that snake-stone I had? It will extract the venom," and, entering the house, he mounted the stairs rapidly to Lorenzo's chamber. He found him sick indeed. The whole arm and shoulder were greatly swollen; and while the old count stood beside his bed with a look of anxious fear, a servant held the young man up to ease his troubled respiration. Lorenzo's face seemed that of a dying man--the features pale and sharp, the eye dull and glassy. "Send for a clerk," said the youth; "there is no time for notaries; but I wish my last testament taken down and witnessed." "Cheer up, cheer up, my good young friend," said Ramiro. "What! you are very sick; the blade was poisoned, doubtless."