And what was that? There he was, coming across the place, right toward him! His eye, accustomed to the darkness, recognized him clearly as if it had been bright day. Would the beast have the stupidity to come into the avenue—to deliver himself into his hand? Per bacco! It was so and not otherwise; then—after a short hesitation—he turned into the avenue—to the other side, to be sure; but it was all right; he could thus follow him on his side so much the more safely; then there was only the bridle-path to leap across, in the deep sand in which his first steps would certainly not be heard, and then—with a few springs, the stiletto in his neck, or, if he should turn, under the seventh rib up to the hilt!
And his hand clutched the hilt as if hand and hilt were one, and with the finger of the other hand he tested over and over the needle-point, while he stole along from tree to tree in long strides—softly, softly—the soft claws of a tiger could not have risen and fallen more softly.
Now half of the avenue was passed; the darkness could not become more dense now; it was just light enough to see the blade of the stiletto. One moment yet to convince himself that they were alone in the park; he over there, and himself—and now, crouching, over across the soft sand behind the thick trunk of a tree which he had already selected as the place!
But quickly as the passage was made, the other had now won a handicap of perhaps twenty paces. That was too much; the distance would have to be diminished by half. And it could not be so difficult; he still had the soft sand of the bridle-path to the right of the trees, while the other one was going to the left on the hard foot-path, where his footsteps would drown any slight noise. There! Maledetto di Dio—a dry twig broke with a crack under his stealthy foot. He crouched behind the tree—he could not be seen; but the other must have heard it; he stopped—listened, perhaps expecting his antagonist—in any case now no longer unprepared—who knows?—a brave man, an officer—turning about, offering his front to his antagonist. So much the better! Then there would be only a leap from behind the tree! And—he was coming!
The Italian's heart throbbed in his throat as he now, advancing his left foot, held himself ready to leap; but the murderous desire had dulled his otherwise sharp senses; the sound of the steps was not toward him but toward the opposite side! When he became aware of his mistake the distance had increased at least twofold—and threefold before he could determine in his amazement what was to be done.
To give up the chase! Nothing else remained. The beast was now almost running, and then a belated cab rattled down the street which intersected the avenue, and beyond the street were crossways to the right and left. It was not safe to do the deed; there was no certainty of escape afterwards—the moment was lost—for this time! But next time!—Antonio muttered a fearful curse as he put his stiletto back into its sheath and concealed it in his coat-pocket.
THE LOAN-OFFICE
From the Painting by Michael von Munkacsy
PERMISSION CH. SEDELMEYER, PARIS
The other had vanished; Antonio followed slowly along the same road, out of the park across the Thiergartenstrasse into the Springbrunnenstrasse to the front of the house in which the hated one lived. The windows were brightly illuminated. An equipage came up; an officer and richly gowned ladies, wrapped in their shawls, alighted; a second equipage followed—he was laughing and reveling up there now, and whispering into the ear of one of the fair ladies who had alighted what he had whispered ten minutes before to Ferdinande. If only he could inspire her with the poisonous jealousy which consumed his own heart! If he could bring about something between her and him which would be insurmountable! If he could betray the whole thing to the grim signor, her father, or to the proud general, his father, or to both——
"Hello!"