a!" he chuckled fearfully to himself, as he now paced the room
with a lighter step--as if joy filled his heart; "all those who have
injured me are within the reach of my vengeance. The Jew in the
inquisition; the marquis open to a charge of diabolical sacrilege--and
Giulia assuredly in Florence! I dealt too leniently with that Jew--I
sent to pay for the redemption of jewels which were my own property! All
my life have I been a just--a humane--a merciful man; I will be so no
more. The world's doings are adverse to generosity and fair-dealing. In
my old age have I learnt this! Oh! the perfidy of women toward a
doting--a confiding--a fond heart, works strange alterations in the
heart of the deceived one! I, who but a year--nay, six months ago--would
not harm the meanest reptile that crawls, now thirst for
vengeance--vengeance," repeated the old man, in a shrieking, hysterical
tone, "upon those who have wronged me! I will exterminate them at one
fell swoop--exterminate them all--all!" And his voice rang screechingly
and wildly through the lofty room of that splendid mansion.

CHAPTER LI.

THE MEETING.

On the bank of the Arno, in a somewhat retired situation, stood a neat
cottage in the midst of a little garden, surrounded by no formal pile of
bricks to constitute a wall, but protected only by its own sweet hedge
or fragrant shrubs and blooming plants. Over the portico of the humble
but comfortable tenement twined the honeysuckle and the clematis; and
the sides of the building were almost completely veiled by the vines
amidst the verdant foliage of which appeared large hunches of purple
grapes.

At an open casement on the ground floor, an elderly female, very plainly
but very neatly attired, and wearing a placid smile and a good-natured
expression upon a countenance which had once been handsome, sat watching
the glorious spectacle of the setting sun. The orb of day went down in a
flood of purple and gold, behind the western hills; and now the dame
began suddenly to cast uneasy glances toward the path that led along the
bank of the river.

But the maiden for whose return the good aunt felt anxious, was not far
distant; indeed Flora Francatelli, wearing a thick veil over her head,
was already proceeding homeward after a short ramble by the margin of
the stream, when the reverie in which she was plunged was interrupted by
the sounds of hasty footsteps behind. Ever fearful of treachery since
the terrible incident