warded; if this is all smoke, why perchance you may be smothered in it; so no more delay."
Tripalda opened each door, peeped behind the hangings, under the tables, and chairs; and then, approaching as softly as a cat who sees a mouse playing in the moonshine, or a spider who beholds his prey unconsciously cleaning his wings within an inch of him, he sat down beside Mordecastelli and whispered:
"The Avogadii."
"Well, what of them? I know that they hate Antelminelli; but they are not powerful enough to do any mischief."
"The Quartezzani."
"Nay, then this is of deeper interest. Have they turned vipers? By St. Martin! they have a sting!"
Tripalda in a low and solemn voice entered into a detail of the plot. "And now," said he, when he had nearly concluded, "except for one circumstance, you had not heard a word of this from me."
"You are a villain to say so;—but what is
