The diamonds, then, constituted the pivot on which his thoughts now revolved. They seemed to shine like stars amidst the deep haze which hung upon his mind. Could he not possess himself of them? The name of Orsini would be dishonored if the gambling debt were not paid; and one bold—one desperate step might supply him with the means to save himself from the impending ruin—the imminent disgrace.
But as the thoughts encouraged by those simple words—“the diamonds”—assumed a more palpable shape in his imagination, he shrank back dismayed from the deed which they suggested: for gamester, debauchee, spendthrift as he was, he had never yet perpetrated an act that could be termed a crime. The seduction of the Countess of Arestino was not a crime in his estimation—oh! no, because man may seduce, and yet may not be dishonored in the eyes of the world. It is his victim, or the partner of his guilty pleasure, only, who is dishonored. Such is the law written in society’s conventional code. Vile, detestable, unjust law!
To weigh and balance the reasons for or against the perpetration of a crime, to pause only for an instant to reflect whether the deed shall or shall not be done—this is to yield at once to the temptation. The desperate man who hovers hesitatingly between right and wrong, invariably adopts the latter course.
And Manuel of Orsini was not an exception to the general rule.
Silence, and calmness, and moonlight were still spread over the City of Flowers, while the marquis pursued the path leading to the suburb of Alla Droce. And the silver-faced stars shone on—shone on, brightly and sweetly, as the young nobleman knocked at the well-protected door of Isaachar ben Solomon.
For a long time his summons remained unanswered; and he repeated it several times ere it received the slightest attention.
At last a casement was opened slowly on the upper story; and the Jew demanded who sought admittance at that hour.
“’Tis I, the Marquis of Orsini!” exclaimed the nobleman.
“A thousand pardons, my lord; I come directly,” answered the Jew, not daring to offend a scion of the omnipotent aristocracy of Florence, yet filled with some misgivings, the more painful because they were so vague and undefined.
In a few moments Manuel was admitted into the abode of Isaachar ben Solomon, who carefully barred and bolted the door again, ere he even thought of alleviating his acute suspense by inquiring the nobleman’s business.