ds the small door, locked it, and put the key in his
pocket.

"Cease this trifling," said the other, evidently ill at ease.

"Open the door, Julio, or I will complain of you to our master."

"What do I care for our master?" said the man, laughing.

"You say, Bernardo, that I shall end my days on the gallows. No, no; the
proverb says, that he who draws the sword shall perish by the sword. I
have pierced so many with my dagger, that my turn must come to fall by the
dagger. Last night, Bernardo, I had rare sport. I knocked down eight,
wounded one in the arm, and as to three or four others whom I left
extended on the ground, my dagger knows better than I what mischief was
done them. Come in with me, and I will tell you all about it."

"No, I have not time."

"You must take the time. You shall not leave here until you have heard my
adventures of last night."

"It is always the same story over again. If I believed you, I would
suppose that the cemeteries were too small to contain the bodies of all
whom you have slain. Open the door, Julio, and let me go, I beg you."

The other took his hand, and dragging him by force into the house, said:
"I am here alone all day, with no one to whom I can speak one word; it is
enough to paralyze my tongue. You shall listen to my adventures whether
you wish it or not. Judge, Bernardo, by the recital of my great deeds what
an honor it is to you to be the comrade of so intrepid a man. Be not
ill-humored; you know it is useless to resist me. Don't laugh; were I to
try it, I could toss you about like a ball; but you are my friend, and
besides, you are too weak to contend with me. Therefore, fear nothing."

They reached the house and entered a kind of parlor, where Julio threw
upon the table the spring he held in his hand, and seating himself, he
said to his companion:

"Take a chair, Bernardo. You are about to hear some strange adventures. Do
you know the ruffian Bufferio? He is a jolly fellow, who cares as little
for the life of a man as for that of a fly. There is not a man in the
parish of Saint Andrew who does not tremble at the sight of him. In a
by-street there is a tavern in a large cellar, where one can hear the
rattling of dice all night long, and they play for piles of gold--where it
comes from, the devil only knows. Late yesterday evening I was passing
through this street, when the noise of the dice fell upon my ear. You must
know, Bernardo, that this sound is as enchanting m