no sum in this matter? What ingredient is it you lack?”
“It is—one that gold can not procure.”
"Name it! Play not with idle words.”
“The life-blood of a child, Magnificence."
“The life-blood of a child?”
“Indeed, my lord.”
The Duke di Sforza pondered a space. At length he glanced up.
“Summon the lackey who admitted me.”
“As you say, Excellency.”
Messer Girolani vanished between the curtains, but returned almost at once, followed by the silent Nubian.
“Order him to bring here for your use the first child he encounters on the streets of the city.”
“You heard, Nara?”
The Nubian nodded and trod softly from the room. Once more Messer Girolani stirred the boiling liquid over the fire. He turned the hourglass about and faced the scowling duke.
“How long, Messer Girolani, before the elixir of life will be completed?”
“Until the hour-glass drains thrice, Magnificence. The elixir is finished but for the blood of the child.”
His Excellency rose and lowered the black hood. He wrapped his cloak about him and stepped into the passageway.
“When the hour-glass drains thrice, Messer Girolani, I shall return.”
He was gone and Messer Girolani was alone again, watching the endless stream of sand in the hour-glass.
Incessantly trickled the sand in the glass. Twice the wizard turned it. Somewhere in the gloomy abode a door closed softly. Impatient and apprehensive, Messer Girolani trod the oaken floor with a step that reverberated through the corridors without. The dancing flames of the fire increased the gloom, by the fantastic shadows they threw about the chamber. There was no sound save the tread of the magician and the crackling fire. At length the draperies parted and the swarthy Nubian entered, a naked child stretched limply upon his great arms.
Silently he laid his burden upon the table. Messer Girolani pointed to a ease at the farther end of the room, and murmured a command. The black turned and was lost in the dusk at the end of the room where the flickering light could not penetrate. He reappeared out of the shadows and the fitful flames flashed ominously on the sharp-edged blade he carried. He handed it to his master, and at the wizard’s order, he grasped the unconscious boy and moved toward the fireplace. The servant held the body firmly, and with an evil calmness the magician slashed the throat of the still form. The body quivered spasmodically as the red blood spurted from the gash into the seething liquid in the pot.
Messer Girolani reseated himself and stared meditatively into the flames. For a long time he sat thus, pondering. The body of the unfortunate child lay at full length on the table, covered with a heavy cloth. At length the alchemist started up and replenished the fire, and turned the hour-glass. As he turned from the fireplace he faced the Duke di Sforza, who had entered silently. The firelight flickered horribly on his drawn features.
“Quick, Messer Girolani, the elixir!”
“A space, Messer Duca, a space.”
The wizard grasped a goblet and walked quickly to the fireplace. He bent over the pot and dipped out a bit of the life-giving fluid. There was a rattle of coins as his Magnificence cast his pouchful of ducats upon the table. Messer Girolani took it
