A black shadow gliding like an almost impalpable spot, might be seen
moving along the street of Saint John.
Thick clouds covered the sky. Not a star was visible. Here and there--at
the corners of the streets and alleys--flickered a small lamp, lighted
before an image of the Virgin; but these slight flames, far from
diminishing the obscurity, shone in the foggy atmosphere as glowworms in
the woods, which glitter but do not give light.
Silence reigned in the deserted streets. If the inhabitants, behind their
oaken windows, heard occasionally some sound interrupting the stillness of
the night, it was the hurried step of some benighted artisan who made as
much noise as possible with his feet in order to frighten away the
robbers; or it was the slow tread of a highwayman, who, listening
attentively and peering through the darkness, was on the watch for his
prey; or it might be the watchmen, who cried the hour and made the
pavement resound under the stroke of their halberds as if to give
evil-doers a warning of their approach.
The shadow gliding at this moment along the street of St. John was that of
a man completely enveloped in a large cloak, his head so covered by the
hood that his eyes alone were visible. As in passing before an image of
the Virgin a feeble ray from a lamp fell upon him, one might have seen as
he hurried along that his hand rested on the hilt of his sword.
Was this person an evil-doer, bent upon the commission of some crime, or,
fearing danger, was he securing to himself the means of defence?
However that may be, he pursued his way undisturbed and reached a narrow
winding alley, from beneath the ground of which seemed to proceed the
confused noise of many voices.
The man stopped at the entrance of a cellar, to which admission was gained
by a ladder, and listened to the joyous sounds which issued from within.
He put his hand in his pocket and chinked some pieces of money.
"The sign of the Silver Dice!" said he, sighing. "How merry they are!
The dice are rolling upon the table. Shall I not risk a shilling? Only
one?"
Yielding to the irresistible temptation, he placed his foot upon the
ladder; but a sudden thought seemed to arrest him. He sprang back,
trembling, and hastened from the cellar. A little farther in the street he
stopped and murmured in an anxious voice: "Heavens! what was I about to do? Risk the money upon dice? I would
certainly have lost the whole. Pietro Mostajo, do not forget the
Superintendent of Lucca! I am saved. Infernal temptation! I was about to
stake my head. But, perhaps, I would not be unlucky. I might win a
fortune. The temptation returns. No, no, I must go seek Bufferio, and I
have no time to lose. He lives yonder: a low dark door beside the pump."