The seat of the deceptive piece of furniture sank down; from the arms started two powerful springs, which caught the young man around the waist, and held him so tightly against the back of the chair that it was impossible for him to move. "Julio, Julio, what horrible jest is this?" he exclaimed. "Is it a trap? Do you act by your master's orders?" But the servant, without saying a word in reply, left the room, closing the door behind him. "Tell me, Julio," asked Turchi, descending the staircase to meet his servant, "is he caught?" "The chair has done its work," replied Julio; "go do yours. Lose no time; he might give an alarm which would betray us. The fear of death gives superhuman strength to a man's lungs. Signor, it seems to me that my head is not safe on my shoulders. How does yours feel?" But Simon Turchi heeded not this jest. He muttered a few indistinct words, drew his sword, and rushed down the steps to wreak his vengeance on the unfortunate Geronimo. The servant remained where his master left him, listened to his footsteps until he heard the door of the fatal room open and then close again. At first no sound reached his ear, but soon he heard Geronimo calling for help, and his master mocking and menacing him; at least he judged this by the tones of their voices, for he was too far off to distinguish the words. Urged by feeling rather than curiosity, he descended the staircase, and listened at the door of the room in which so horrible a crime was about to be committed. He heard Geronimo say, in an earnest, pleading tone: "Dear Simon, your mind is deranged. You, my friend, kill me! It is impossible. Put down that dagger; at least let me not die without confession. If it be the ten thousand crowns exasperating you, I make you a present of them; tear up in my presence the acknowledgment of the debt, and I will never speak to you of it again." "Mary, Mary Van de Werve!" howled Simon Turchi, with biting sarcasm. "I will renounce her hand and leave for Italy, and never again will I see a country so fatal to me, to her, to all that I love." "It is too late--too late. You must die!" "No, no, Simon; in pity to yourself do not imbue your hands in my innocent blood. God sees us; your conscience will torture you; never again will there be peace for you on earth, and your poor soul will be miserable for all eternity. No, Simon, do not kill me." Then came a frightful cry, as though he were crushed, and Julio heard a sound which seemed like that of a dagger against metal. This blow, however--if it were a blow--was not mortal, for Geronimo raised his voice with the strength of despair, and cried out: "Help! help! Simon, let me live! Mercy! mercy!" Then a mournful groan escaped his lips, while, as his voice died away, h prayed: "My God, my God, forgive him! I am dying."