"Come, come; of what good are all such thoughts? I am in his power, and I must yield to necessity; but once let the blow be struck, once let him commit a crime of which I can produce the proofs, then I will be master, and in my turn I will cry in his ears: 'Simon Turchi, fear the bailiff and the executioner!' At the present moment I am powerless; if I took any means to prevent the attempt, he might destroy all evidence of his criminal design, and deliver me up to the authorities of Lucca. I would be taken into Italy and broken on the wheel, in the very place where my poor old mother lives. I have always been a cause of sorrow to her; at least I will spare her this last disgrace. But the signor is coming down. He will reiterate his entreaties to me to strike the fatal blow; but I will not have the blood of this innocent gentleman on me." Simon Turchi was approaching. His face was very pale, but the scar which furrowed his cheek was of a more ashy hue. He did not tremble, but he walked precipitately, and he clasped his hands convulsively, like a man whose impatience can brook no delay. He noticed that his servant was in deep thought, his head bowed upon his chest, and it was only on his near approach that Julio suddenly roused from his preoccupation. He entered the room and said: "Julio, the hour is nigh. Of what are you thinking? Are you afraid?" "Afraid?" replied Julio, with a light laugh; "why should _I_ be afraid?" "True, true," murmured Simon, "since I alone shall shed his blood." "But," continued Julio, "if I have no cause for personal fear, would not love for my master fill me with painful thoughts? Signor, you are playing for dangerous stakes." "Who will know what has taken place here?" "Who? Is there not an eye above which sees all? And whilst here, in the deepest secrecy, you immolate a human being to your thirst for vengeance, will not God hear the cry of agony of the Signor Geronimo?" Julio saw, with a secret joy, that his words made his master tremble, although he tried to dissemble his feelings under an assumed insensibility. "What a good joke!" replied Simon; "Pietro Mostajo talking of God! My precautions are too well taken; when the cellar will be the depository of the secret, there will be none to tell it." "Do you think so, signor? When has such a murder ever remained concealed? It is not surprising that I bowed my head in thought. In imagination I saw such terrible things that I dare not tell them to you. Tears still fill my eyes at the thought." "What did you see?" asked Turchi, with increasing anxiety.