in my hand, I should have killed him. Arthur raised
his cane, and, but that I seized his wrist, he would have struck the
insulter across the face. It was an impulse only, and when I felt his
wrist relaxing I released it, and it fell down by his side.

'Come away, Calvotti,' he said, 'or I shall disgrace myself and do this
man a mischief.'

But if I could share at the moment in the feeling of anger which
Grammont's hideous insults had inspired, I could not and I cannot
understand the bitter and passionate resentment with which Arthur
nourished the memory of them. For days after, not a waking hour passed
by without a break of sudden anger from him when he recalled the words
to mind. I did my best to calm him, and in each case succeeded in
persuading him that it was less than useless to retain the memory of
insult so conveyed by such a man. But in a little while he broke out
again, and after a time I allowed him to rage himself out.

'Why did you restrain me?' he cried one day as we walked together. 'The
ruffian deserved a thrashing. I care nothing for what he said of me, but
a man who could speak of his sister in that way is not fit to live. For
God's sake, Calvotti, let us go away somewhere out of reach of this man.
I am not safe. I hardly know myself. If I met him I should kill him then
and there.'

'My dear Arthur,' I said at last, 'this is childish, and unworthy of
you. The man is a ruffian by nature, and was mad with drink. Forget him,
and any mad and drunken thing he may have said.'

'Well,' said Arthur, with a visible effort, 'the blackguard disappears
from my scheme of things. I have done with him. There! It's all over.
What shall we do to-night? Let us go out together and look at Giovanna's
Palace by moonlight. A blow on the bay would do me good, and you might
find an inspiration for a picture. Who knows? Will you go?'

I consented, and we walked back to the town at once to make
arrangements. We secured a boat, and a bottle or two of wine and a
handful of cigars having been laid in as store, we started. On the way
to the boat, by bitter misfortune, we met Grammont. This wretched man's
drunkenness had three phases--the genial, the morose, and the violent.
He was at the first when we were so unhappy as to meet him. He insisted
upon accompanying us, and I could see the passion gathering in Arthur's
face, until I knew that if some check were not put upon him there would
be an outbreak.

I took upon myself to