same, and either player would drink, drop by drop, all the heart's blood of the other, with that intensity of enjoyment that an Italian alone can appreciate and understand.

The spectators, in profound silence and breathless attention, are grouped around the players. In the midst of the circle stands a tall figure, bearing all the appearance of a man; a mask conceals his face. This strange being, with his arms folded across his breast, and leaning against a column, follows attentively the march of the princess's game. This figure is a Gnome. It is not Satan in person, but a demon of an inferior rank, like the demon of the Hartz Forest, only younger, and therefore less experienced. Mocking spirit, of the Mephistopheles order, he had recently left the infer- . nal abodes to make the tour of Europe; and having stopped at Venice to witness the festivals of its carnival, he found himself so charmed with all that he saw, that for a moment he fancied that he had missed his way and had got into heaven.

The farther the game proceeded, the more poignant were the emotions of the players. Vincenzio made the most desperate efforts to conceal his convulsive anxiety; but a sweat of icy coldness bathed his forehead, and his pallid countenance was of the whiteness of marble. However, he retained still the strength to concentrate all his faculties upon the game, and so well mastered his agitation that he played with consummate skill a long series of moves, and proved himself worthy of engaging in combat with her who at Chess knew no rival.

The princess Buondelmonte was not without uneasiness about the fate of the game. Her adversary's pawns presented a formidable front, and his Queen, after taking a Knight, threatened her with a check-by-discovery. She had the Whites, and it was her turn to play. Her eyes fixed on the board, she reflected long, and despair seized her heart as she believed that she was lost beyond remedy, and that Vincenzio had once again escaped her snares and baffled all her wiles. Such was the position of the game:

WHITE.-King at Queen's third square; Queen at King's second; Pawn at King's Bishop's sixth.

BLACK.-King at King's Knight's square; Queen at King's Knight's sixth; Bishop at King's sixth; Pawns at the following squares: King's Rook's secondKing's Knight's third-King's fourth-Queen's fifth,

Suddenly, the supernatural being approached the princess, and, as was afterwards suspected, murmured a few words in her ear. and, springing up on her seat, she was near fainting with joy, when, by a skilful countermarch, in ten moves she gave checkmate. Vincenzio did not utter a word, but rushed from the apartment. The beautiful Buondelmonte turned to thank the stranger. He was no longer there, although no one had perceived his departure!

Two hours later, on that same night, Vincenzio was walking alone on the Rialto, with all the fires of hell in his heart. To die, he felt as nothing,-but to die without vengeance! Was he not reduced to beggary? This woman, had she not ruined him? Alas, when their mutual passion had expired,-after Vincenzio had, to please her, drunk deeply of the cup of crime,-when for her he had done every thing-this woman, had she not betrayed, despised, forgotten him? Was it not she who had conducted his father to the scaffold, and caused his brother to be imprisoned in the dungeons of the State? Himself, had it not been a struggle of hatred between her and him during the last two years? Had not his abhorrence of this woman led him to the point of longing to plunge his poniard in her heart? Oh, how fearful a struggle was raging in his soul, when a stranger touched his arm.

"Away!" cried the impetuous young man-when at a glance he recognized in the person before him the officious friend of his adversary; and then, as if his fury had found an issue of escape, Vincenzio, swift as thought, bared the blade of his stiletto, and inflicted with it a terrible blow upon the man whom he deemed his foe. A burst of laughter replied to this attack; and Vincenzio, stupefied and bewildered, remained lost in astonishment. But soon shaking off this trance, and retiring against one of the pillars that supported the balustrade, he exclaimed: "Who are you?"

"Men give me the name of Astaroth," replied the stranger. "But what harm had I done you, that you should give me so rough a reception? It was not I that won your gold this night. But I confess your loss is cruel-a very cruel one! Life and vengeance were the stakes of the game, and you have lost!-But perhaps you have some resources left?"

“Alas, no—all is lost!" replied Vincenzio, with a groan of anguish; "even honor!"

"Honor! a pretty word on your lips! And where was your honor, when, but an instant ago, your poniard sought the life of an unarmed friend?"

"Such is the reception that a Guadagnaro has always for impertinent intruders. But you call yourself my friend-by what title? What can you do for me, you whom nothing can daunt? Answer, mysterious man, whom all bespeaks of a nature different from my own!"

"I intend to save you," replied Astaroth.

"To save me-it is too late! You cannot undo the past, and for the future I care little !"

"I offer you the accomplishment of all your wishes. Do you wish to avenge yourself, Vincenzio ?"

"To avenge myself! You offer me vengeance! To avenge myself on the Buondelmonte! Oh, give me her flesh to devour!

Give me her blood to drain drop by drop! Say-speak! Oh, whoever thou art, answer me!"

"What then has become of your passion for her? You once worshipped her, that woman,-and to-day "

"Silence, phantom! Answer, or begone! Dost thou promise me vengeance?"

"Yes; but listen with patience. I will give you all that you can desire. Your vengeance shall even surpass your utmost hope. Thine health, riches-thine a brilliant life-thine every thing!but on one condition-do you wish to know it?"

"No, by my soul, I do not. Not a syllable more! Thou hast been able by a word to soften the recollection of my misfortunes; bring me not back again, then, to the earth! Oh, if thou wert indeed a supernatural being-Well, then

"

"And if indeed I were a being superior to mortals, would you accept my offers on these conditions?"-and Astaroth murmured some words in Vincenzio's ear in a low voice.

Vincenzio did not quiver an eye-lid; for a single instant only his countenance grew pale; but presently, making a violent effort, he answered with a firm voice:

"I swear! And so help me Heaven and St. Ignacio!—I consent to every thing. But once more-vengeance! vengeance!

"Your resolution charms me," replied Astaroth. "All the time that is assigned to me to fulfil my mission on the earth shall be consecrated to you. To-morrow, young man, you shall see the accomplishment of my promises. Now, retire to your palace, and may your sleep be brightened by dreams of happiness."

"What, Astaroth, you leave me already!"

“Adieu, Vincenzio, adieu for ten years. Continue to adore the bewitching Buondelmonte; and in remembrance of our interview, permit me to throw over your neck this trifling pledge of my affection."

Vincenzio then felt something like a heavy chain fall upon his shoulders. It was a necklace of superb sapphires. He raised his eyes-he stood alone on the Rialto.

Slowly he regained his palace; and this night, eventful as it was, deep were his slumbers, delicious were his dreams.

Vincenzio awoke with the dawn of day, and with his awaking came the recollection of the preceding night. His first motion was to look for that chain which Astaroth had thrown over his shoulders, and which had remained there, when, exhausted by so many various emotions, he had sunk down upon his couch. The chain of sapphires had disappeared, and it was with horror that he observed around his neck the deep impress of a circular band. This band showed red and black upon the whiteness of his skin, as if it

had been engraved there. Vincenzio shuddered, for that fatal mark appeared to him as if the seal of his infernal compact! But the lord of Guadagnaro did not possess an ordinary spirit; and strange as it may be, his strongest emotion at that moment was an inexpressible sense of happiness. He was certain that his hour of vengeance was at hand. He sprang therefore from his couch, and his first glance fell upon immense coffers filled with gold. Venetian sequins, of the finest purity, glittered before his eyes, mixed with ducats, which did not change into dust in his hand, as he had at first for a moment feared. One might have supposed that Pactolus, with its waves of gold, had in passing through his chamber forgotten these miraculous treasures. But Vincenzio, was he thinking of that gold which he grasped by handfuls, and covered with kisses? Was he enjoying the possession of such vast riches, as he rolled in the midst of sequins and ducats? No; it was his approaching vengeance that alone caused the wild tumults of his joy.

On the top of the gold was a parchment containing the conditions of the dark personage, conditions accepted by Vincenzio, and which were already registered in hell. Such was the principal clause of the contract; our Venetian had pledged himself to play three games of Chess with Astaroth, and an interval of ten years was to elapse between each of these games. Should our hero win or lose, a hundred years of an existence full of joy and happiness were granted to him, independently of the twenty summers that he reckoned already. A single one of these games won or drawn destroyed the compact, and guaranteed Vincenzio against all punishment in the next world. But, on the other hand, should he lose the three games, he was indeed to enjoy his hundred years or the earth; but then, horrible alternative!-the flames of hell through all eternity.

The pages of Vincenzio carried to the Buondelmonte palace all the gold that he had lost. His enchanting and adorable enemy was sadly grieved at the sight of such vast treasures; and I regret not to be able to relate in detail what passed between her and Vincenzio. All the information I can give you is, that three days after this interview a fisherman drew from the canal a corpse which, by its long and beautiful hair, even before a sight of its features, was recognized as that of a woman. It was in fact the body of the princess Buondelmonte, but so horribly mutilated, and so far decomposed, that if on the preceding night she had not been seen at a banquet given by the Doge, it might have been supposed that her corpse had remained a month under the water. How had that misfortune happened? Who could be her murderer? Such were the questions men asked each other in vain, in the midst of a profound stupefaction.

Some weeks after, the palace of the Buondelmontes had become

the property of Vincenzio di Guadagnaro. Soon his joyous humor, his generosity, his wit, and his goodness of heart, were everywhere spoken of, and drew down the most flattering praises. No one gave more splendid festivals, nor more brilliant soirées; nor did any one display in the dance more grace and lightness. The charm of his conversation and the courtesy of his manners rendered him soon the idol of Venice. The highest nobility of Italy assembled around him, and more than one timid and tender heart sighed in secret to wear his chains. Vincenzio did not, however, devote all of his time to pleasure, but he understood, in the highest degree, the art of carrying out in practice the "Carpe Diem" of the ancients; he loved, above all, to cultivate his mind, and placed his highest glory in meriting the praises of the learned. Devoted particularly to the game of Chess, from all quarters of Europe he would invite to his palace the most renowned masters of that noble game. All that accepted his invitation were magnificently entertained; and the players that proved skilful were sure to find all their desires gratified. By force of practice, our hero finally became the equal of the first masters, if indeed he did not surpass them. His happiness was at its height, and he beheld as it were the world at his feet. His deportment with women was unexceptionable; they had never the slightest wrong to complain of at his hands,-unless it be that when it became the fashion to wear the collar low, and falling over the shoulders, Vincenzio refused to adopt this innovation, and continued as before to wear a very high and upright collar

CHAPTER II.

In those days, as in the present, time flew rapidly. Vincenzio, who was now close upon his thirtieth year, experienced a sort of vague uneasiness, as he saw the fatal period arrive that was to bring on his encounter with Astaroth.

It may be thought strange, perhaps, that the demon had exhibited so unusual a degree of liberality towards our hero; but Astaroth was a demon of the third order, and Satan in point of craft and wiles could easily have given him the odds of pawn and two moves. Perhaps, too, there might have entered into his constitution a sufficient proportion of that of man, to make similar adventures a matter of amusement to him ;—and, besides, who can say what extravagances the caprices of these supernatural beings may not commit? Astaroth had made rather an extravagant bargain; but Vincenzio was not, after all, a prey to be despised. He was an esprit-fort; and far from trembling at the idea of the approaching visit of his dark adversary, he prepared himself courageously to give him a good reception. Though young in years, he was old in experience,