"Mary so named it, not I. It is an amulet, and if it has any power, it
derives it from the gray stone beneath the cross. This stone is a
_draconite_, taken, at the risk of life, from the head of a dragon in the
country of the negroes."

A half contemptuous smile curled the lips of the old man as he
contemplated the talisman in silence. At last he said: "I remember, Signor
Geronimo, to have read in Pliny curious details of the draconite and its
extraordinary powers, but I also remember that the great naturalist
forgets to tell us the inherent qualities of the stone. Alas! signor,
would you trust in this talisman, and believe that it could protect you
against the dagger of the assassin? The people of the South have a strange
piety: in their superstition they confound what is holy with things which
owe their efficacy, if they possess any, to the conjurations of
sorcerers."

The young noble colored slightly, and replied: "You are mistaken, sir, as
far as I am concerned. For my justification allow me to tell you that this
amulet belonged to a pilgrim; that it rested one entire night of Good
Friday upon the tomb of our Lord at Jerusalem; but I will be candid, and
say to you that I do not consider it possessed of the power to preserve me
from danger. And yet I always wear it with the firm and unshaken
conviction that it will protect me in a critical hour from some
misfortune."

"Perhaps it belonged to your deceased parents," said Mr. Van de Werve,
struck by the singular explanation of the young man.

"No, sir," replied Geronimo; "this amulet is to me a cherished souvenir of
a day upon which God gave me the grace to perform a good action. I would
willingly tell you how the amulet fell into my hands, and why I believe in
its power to protect me, but it is a long story."

"I would, nevertheless, be much pleased if you would satisfy my
curiosity," said the old noble.

"If you desire it," replied Geronimo, "I will comply with your wishes.

"You know that five years ago, when I undertook for the first time the
voyage from Lucca to Antwerp, I was made prisoner by Algerian pirates, and
carried as a slave to Barbary. I was sold to a Moorish lord, who made me
work in the fields until my uncle should send the ransom which would
restore me to liberty. In the same field in which some light work was
appointed me, I saw an old blind woman attached like a mule to a plough,
and driven on by blows from a heavy stick. She was a Christia