In the dead
man's own words, it had been an act of divine justice and
retribution, and since nobody could possibly discover the
murderer, there was matter for satisfaction in the idea that the
wicked old man no longer cumbered the earth with his presence.
Strange, that he should have suffered such an agony of fear half
an hour earlier. Was it half an hour? How pleasantly the sun shone
in to the little room where he had laboured during so many years,
and so profitably! Now that the prince was dead it would be
amusing to look at those original documents for which he had made
such skilfully-constructed substitutes. He would like to assure
himself, however, that the deed had been well done. There was
magic in that old liquor. Another little draught and he would go
down to the study as though nothing had happened. If he should
meet anybody his easy manner would disarm suspicion. Besides, he
could take the bottle with him in the pocket of his long coat--the
bottle of courage, he said to himself with a smile, as he set it
to his lips. This time he drank but little, and very slowly. He
was too cautious a man to throw away his ammunition uselessly.
With a light heart he descended the winding stair and crossed the
landing. One of Ascanio Bellegra's servants passed at that moment.
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