“Is that a threat, Christian?”
“No, it is a promise. I am in your debt, as you know very well, my dear friend, and as soon as I have paid off my indebtedness here—that will be done as soon as I have given an exhibition of marionettes an hour from this time—I shall make it my business to settle my account with you, by giving you the very best flogging you ever had in your life.”
While speaking, Christian passed back into the green-room, and began putting out his lights and dropping his curtain. Massarelli followed, closing the doors of the gallery as he did so; and Christian, whose back was necessarily turned towards him at that moment, said to himself that this bandit would be very likely to make use of his advantage to try and assassinate him. Still, he despised him too much to show any distrust, and he went on threatening him with a severe chastisement for his crimes, in a tone as calm as that assumed by the rascal himself. Fortunately for the imprudent Christian, Guido was by no means a courageous man, and kept his distance, ready to retreat in case his adversary should seem disposed to make a present payment on account.
“Come, Christian,” he began again, when he supposed the young man might have given vent to his first outbreak of resentment, “let us have a reasonable conversation before proceeding to extremities. I am perfectly ready to give you satisfaction for all my transactions with you, and you have no right to insult with idle words a man whom you know you cannot terrify.”
“What a pitiful fellow you are!” said Christian, beginning to be angry, and walking straight up to him. “Satisfaction from you, you prince of cowards? Oh no, Guido! the way to do with a fellow like you is to slap him in the face, and, if he resists, to beat him like a dog: nobody ever fights with him; you must know that. So drop your high tone, you scoundrel, and don’t dare look me in the face! Down with you, on your knees, before me, or I’ll strike you this very moment!”
Guido, as pale as death, fell on his knees without a word, while great tears, either of fear, or shame, or rage, rolled down his cheeks.
“Very good,” said Christian, half in disgust and half in pity; “now get up and go. I pardon you, but never voluntarily cross my path again; and if we chance to meet, no matter where, don’t venture to speak to me. For me, you are dead. Out with you, lackey! This room is mine for two or three hours.”
“Christian,” cried Guido, rising, and speaking with a vehemence affected or sincere, as the case may be, “hear me for only five minutes.”
“No.”
“Christian, listen to me!” persisted the bandit, stepping before the door of the staircase, which Christian was about to throw open; “I have something of importance to tell you—something upon which your fortune and your life depend.”