Lucilio was impassive, and yet he was too much of an Italian not to be familiar with the cold-blooded anger of a Spaniard, and with the possible destination of a stiletto apparently thrown at random. Under any other circumstances he would have been anxious concerning his instrument, which D'Alvimar's eye seemed to be watching, as if for a chance to pierce it. But he was complying with Lauriane's wish; he was fighting in behalf of innocence, as Orpheus fought for love with his triumphant lyre; and he courageously attacked one of the Moorish airs which he had heard and written down the day before. D'Alvimar felt that he was defied, and the fire of wrath that was smouldering within him began to burn him. Being as dexterous as a Chinaman in throwing the knife, he determined to frighten the impertinent minstrel, and began to make the gleaming blade fly all around him, drawing nearer and nearer as he proceeded with his soft and plaintive song. Lauriane had walked away a few steps, and at that moment her back was turned to that horrible scene. "I have defied tortures and death," said Giovellino to himself. "I will defy them again, and this Spaniard shall not have the pleasure of seeing me turn pale." He turned his eyes in another direction and played as carefully and accurately as if he were at Bois-Doré's table. Meanwhile D'Alvimar, moving hither and thither, amused himself by standing in front of him and aiming at him, as if he were tempted to take him for a target; and by virtue of one of those inexplicable fascinations which are as it were the punishment of cruel jests, he began really to feel that horrible temptation. The cold perspiration stood out on his body and a film passed over his eyes. Lucilio felt it rather than saw it; but he chose to risk everything rather than show a moment's fear in the face of the enemy of his native land, who likewise cast contempt upon his manly dignity. XX While this terrible game was in progress, a strange spectator was looking on within two steps of the heedless Lauriane; it was the young wolf brought up in the kennels, who had adopted the habits and manners of a dog, but not his instincts and nature. He fawned upon everybody but was attached to nobody. Lying at Lucilio's feet, he had watched the Spaniard's cruel game with evident uneasiness, and, the dagger having fallen close beside him several times, he had risen and sought shelter behind the tree, thinking of nothing but his own safety. However, as the game continued, the animal, who was just beginning to feel his teeth, showed them several times in silence, and, considering that he was attacked, felt for the first time in his life the instinct of hatred of man. With his eye on fire, muscles tense, hair erect and quivering, he was concealed from D'Alvimar by the colossal trunk of the yew, where he watched for a favorable moment, and suddenly sprang out and tried to seize him by the throat.