"Is there any danger?" he demanded.
Turchi took his hand, and said, piteously:
"Alas! Julio, my friend, to-morrow, in all probability, we will be cast, manacled, into a dungeon, there to await an infamous death."
"Is it not your own fear, signor, which inspires such a thought?" asked
Julio, trembling.
"No; I have heard a terrible piece of news. Geronimo was seen in the Quarter of the Jews, and he was met going towards the Hospital Grounds. The bailiff has determined to search to-morrow morning all the cellars in that vicinity, and even to dig the ground on the spot where my garden lies. The police agents are to proceed at daybreak to the Hospital meadows, and as they cannot fail to remark that the earth has been newly turned up, they will certainly discover what they seek. You pushed Geronimo into the arm-chair; you buried his body; consequently you will accompany me to the scaffold, unless, in your capacity of servant, they may choose to hang you or break you on the wheel. O Julio! does not this information awaken you to a sense of our perilous condition?"
"From whom did you learn all that?" asked the affrighted servant.
"From the bailiff himself."
"From his own lips?"
"Yes, my friend, from his own lips. In spite of your courage and coolness, I think I may say that you have no stronger desire than myself to die by the hand of the executioner."
Julio put his hand to his throat and said, dejectedly: