song of a boatman who is plying his oars on the smooth surface of the Bay. It was a happy fancy to set down the words of the sailor's carol—a gentle touch of human gladness ere the demon of vengeance whispers "Vendetta!"
With astonishing cleverness the outraged husband maps out his plan of requital; his patience, his self-control, his constant alertness are described by himself—the story is told in the first person—with a deliberation that is almost diabolical in its cold-blooded intensity.
Count Fabio scorns the idea of divorce or even an ordinary duel; his revenge must partake of nothing so prosaic as an action at law or ten minutes' rapier play. The matter does, indeed, come to a fight at last, but even here the injured nobleman gives his rival no chance; for, by removing his smoked spectacles, and disclosing his eyes for the first time to his one-time friend, he so unnerves his opponent that the latter fires wildly and merely grazes the count's shoulder, while Fabio's bullet finds a vital spot in the breast of the man who in a mere prosaic action for divorce would be referred to as the co-respondent.
The count intended to kill his man, and, if his action were unsportsmanlike, he would doubtless have excused it on the ground that a vendetta wots
