"Julio," said Simon, "I am dejected and undecided. There is a man who pretends to be my friend, but who has secretly been my bitter enemy. He has always artfully calumniated and deceived me, and injured me in my fortune and honor; he has pushed his machinations to such a degree that I will soon be condemned to eternal infamy and misery, unless, by a bold stroke of vengeance, I break through the snares he has laid for my destruction. Be calm, Julio; it does you honor to be inflamed with anger against the enemies of your master; but listen. I discovered, three days ago, that it was this treacherous friend who paid the assassins to inflict the wound of which I still bear the scar on my face. Thus, he first shed my blood and attempted my life; now he plans my ruin and dishonor. Julio, what would you do in my place?" "What would I do? Ask my dagger, signor; if it could speak, it would tell you of wonderful exploits." "Then you would not hesitate to undertake a difficult task?" "Hesitate! you insult me, signor. I would not hesitate were twenty swords brandished over my head." "Understand, Julio, that had I doubted your intrepidity, I would not have spoken to you of such grave affairs. I give you the highest proof of confidence by intrusting my vengeance to your hands. I will tell you who is my enemy, and where you can strike him secretly. Kill him, and you shall be liberally recompensed." This mission appeared unpalatable to Julio. "Yes," he stammered; "but that is not my way of acting. I will pick a quarrel with your enemy, and if he dares to raise a finger against me, he is a dead man." "Impossible; he is of noble birth." "And if I insulted him, his valets would fall upon me and beat me." "That is true. There is but one way, Julio; I will tell you where you can stab him at night without the least danger." "I? shall I treacherously kill your enemy? This gentleman has never injured me. Since how long has it been the custom for valets to avenge the grievances of their masters? It is your own affair, signor." "You value the life of a man as little as a farthing, you said," replied Simon Turchi, with bitter irony; "and now you allege the most puerile reasons as excuses. You are a coward, Julio." "I am not; but I do not choose to lie in wait and stab a man in the dark." "That is a feint, a subterfuge, to conceal your cowardice." "Since it is so simple and easy, why do you not deal the blow yourself, signor?" The scar on Simon Turchi's face became of a livid white; his whole frame trembled with rage; but by a strong effort he controlled his emotion, and after a few moments he said, with a contemptuous smile upon his lips: