that; it would be too terrible for me to listen to."

"No," replied the Count: "I will relate everything. He knows how I
insulted his friend, and it is only right that he should know how Silvio
revenged himself."

The Count pushed a chair towards me, and with the liveliest interest I
listened to the following story:

"Five years ago I got married. The first month--the honeymoon--I spent
here, in this village. To this house I am indebted for the happiest
moments of my life, as well as for one of its most painful recollections.

"One evening we went out together for a ride on horseback. My wife's
horse became restive; she grew frightened, gave the reins to me, and
returned home on foot. I rode on before. In the courtyard I saw a
travelling carriage, and I was told that in my study sat waiting for me
a man, who would not give his name, but who merely said that he had
business with me. I entered the room and saw in the darkness a man,
covered with dust and wearing a beard of several days' growth. He was
standing there, near the fireplace. I approached him, trying to remember
his features.

"'You do not recognize me, Count?' said he, in a quivering voice.

"'Silvio!' I cried, and I confess that I felt as if my hair had suddenly
stood on end.

"'Exactly,' continued he. 'There is a shot due to me, and I have come to
discharge my pistol. Are you ready?'