On the table, beside the lamp, was a large knife, and near it a piece of
linen and some sand for scouring, showing that the woman had been occupied
in cleaning these arms when the knock at the door interrupted her.
All these instruments of murder filled with terror the heart of the man
who was contemplating them. He turned his eyes away from them, trembling
as he reflected upon the horror of his position. However, a few moments
only were left him, for the door of the house soon opened and he heard
steps on the staircase.
The woman entered and said: "Bufferio will soon be here. When he has the dice in his hand, it is
difficult to tear him away. Nevertheless, he will come. I think, signor,
that he has drank deeply. Look well to yourself, and if you value your
life, do not irritate him, for he would make as little scruple of
maltreating you as he would of crushing a worm. Apart from that, he is the
best man in the world."
She seated herself at the table, took up the knife and linen, and
continued her occupation, whilst observing the stranger with a suspicious
eye.
He had pulled the hood of the cloak over his face and seated himself in
silence, fixing his eye vaguely upon space, like a man wearied by long
waiting. He was deeply agitated, and from time to time his whole frame
shook. Every time that he glanced towards the table he met the penetrating
look of the frightful Megæra, who, while continuing to clean the blade of
the large knife, considered him from head to foot, and seemed endeavoring
to discover who he was and with what intention he had come.
At last, no longer able to resist his feeling of anxiety, he rose and
said: "Woman, show me the way out. I have not time to wait longer. I will return
to-morrow, during the day."
"I hear Bufferio whistling in the street," she replied.
"He is even now placing the key in the door."
The stranger, as if perfectly satisfied with this intelligence, fell back
in his chair, with a suppressed sigh, and listened in an agony of fear to
the heavy footsteps on the staircase.
Bufferio appeared at the door, and looked distrustfully at the man who had
interrupted him at his game.
The ruffian Bufferio was of giant build. He was obliged to stoop in order
to enter the door. His head was thrown back defiantly, and his hand rested
upon the hilt of a dagger which was held by his girdle. A broad-brimmed
hat shaded his face; his whole dress was of dark-brown cloth, scarcely
distinguishable in the darkness of night. Under his prominent eyebrows
twinkled very small eyes, and a cruel, withering smile played about his
mouth.