An insane desire possessed me to turn upon him--to spring at his throat--to wrestle with him and throw him in the dust at my feet--to spit at him and trample upon him--but I repressed those fierce and dangerous emotions.

I had a better game to play--I had an exquisite torture in store for him, compared to which a hand-to-hand fight was mere vulgar fooling.

Vengeance ought to ripen slowly in the strong heat of intense wrath, till of itself it falls--hastily snatched before its time it is like unmellowed fruit, sour and ungrateful to the palate.

So I let my dear friend--my wife's consoler--saunter on his heedless way without interference--I passed, leaving him to indulge in amorous musings to his false heart's content.

I entered Naples, and found a night's lodging at one of the usual resorts for men of my supposed craft, and, strange to say, I slept soundly and dreamlessly.