d lion, he may have eaten a score like you, white and
black, but he is not hungry just now and wants to sleep. Down goes his
head again, and his eyes shut themselves for another nap. On you go,
stealthily, nearer and nearer, your rifle ready in both hands. But a
dry stalk of grass cracks under your foot, and almost before you can
stand still he is up and glaring at you, his long tufted tail showing
upright against the sky. If you move, even to lift your gun to your
shoulder, he will charge; and sooner or later, move you must. Then,
suddenly, he is bounding forward, by leap after leap, hurling his huge
strength through the air, straight at you, and as the distance lessens
you see his burning eyes with frightful distinctness. Two more such
bounds as the last will do it. Take care, for within ten seconds
either you or he will be dead. There is no other end possible.

Fate does not always kill, it is true; but you have not that one
chance against her which your weapon gives you against the lion, and
she may maul you badly before she has done with you, even worse than
the biggest cat would.

It was not Ugo Severi's fate that was waking, and that began to look
towards Monteverde when Princess Chiaromonte paid him a visit. It was
not even the Princess's own.

When she was gone, he went back to his history of Confucianism, and
Pica got into his grey linen fatigue suit again, and carefully brushed
his smart uniform before folding it and putting it away in the chest.
Then he washed the tea-things, rubbed the two silver spoons with a
special leather he kept for them, and shut up everything in the
cupboard. After that, he opened the front door and sat down on the
brick seat that ran along the front of the house. He would have liked
to smoke a pipe, but Captain Ugo was very particular about that, so he
took out half of a villainous-looking 'napoletano' cigar, bit off
three-quarters of an inch of it, and returned the small remainder to
his pocket; and after a few minutes he concluded, as usual, that a
chew was far cheaper than a smoke and lasted much longer.

As the sun sank he looked across the yellow river towards Saint
Paul's, and because he had been bred in sight of the sea it struck him
that the distant belfry tower was very like a lighthouse, and he
smiled at the thought, which has occurred to men of more cultivation
than he had.

His eyes wandered to his left, and the sunset glow was on the low city
walls, not a mile awa