"HIS LIFE AT LAST WAS IN MY HANDS."
Silvio took from his pocket the letter he had received that morning, and handed it to me to read. Someone (it seemed to be his business agent) wrote to him from Moscow, that a certain individual was soon to be married to a young and beautiful girl.
"You guess," said Silvio, "who the certain individual is. I am starting for Moscow. Me shall see whether he will be as indifferent now as he was some time ago, when in presence of death he ate cherries!"
With these words Silvio rose, threw his cap upon the floor, and began pacing up and down the room like a tiger in his cage. I remained silent. Strange contending feelings agitated me.
The servant entered and announced that the horses were ready. Silvio grasped my hand tightly. He got into the telega, in which lay two trunks—one containing his pistols, the other some personal effects. We wished good-bye a second time, and the horses galloped off.