of old age.  It contains a peculiar alkaloid of which, for thirty years past, I had taken (in solution) a much-diluted dose almost daily.  You see the result.  I also give Ramon an occasional dose, and he is the most vigorous man of his years I know.  I sent some to Giessler, but he said it was an empirical remedy, and declined to take it.  He preferred electric baths.  I take my electric baths by horseback exercise, and riding to hounds.

Yes, I believe I shall finish my century—­without becoming senile either in body or mind—­if I can escape the Griscelli.  I was in hopes that I had escaped them by coming here; but I never stay long in Europe that they don’t sooner or later find me out.  I think I shall have to spend the remainder of my life in America or the East.  The consciousness of being continually hunted, that at any moment I may be confronted with a murderer and perchance be murdered, is too trying for a man of my age.  To tell the truth, I am beginning to feel that I have nerves; though my elixir delays death, it does not insure perpetual youth; and propitiating these people is out of the question—­I have tried it.

Three years after my return from Venezuela, Guiseppe, son of the man whom I killed at Caracas, tried to kill me at Amsterdam, fired at me point-blank with a duelling pistol, and so nearly succeeded that the bullet grazed my cheek and cut a piece out of my ear.  Yet I not only pardoned him, but bribed the police to let him go, and gave him money.  Well, seven years later he repeated the attempt at Naples, waylaid me at night and attacked me with a dagger, but I also happened to be armed, and Guiseppi Griscelli died.

At Paris, too—­indeed, while the empire lasted—­I found it expedient to shun France altogether.  At that time Corsicans were greatly in favor; several members of the Griscelli family belonged to the secret police and had great influence, and as I never took an alias and my name is not common, I was tracked like a criminal.  Once I had to leave Paris by stealth at dead of night; another time I saved my life by simulating death.  But why recount all the attempts on my life?  Another time, perhaps.  The subject is not a pleasant one, but this I will say:  I never spared a Griscelli that I had not cause to regret my clemency.  The last I spared was the young man who tried to murder me down in the wood there; and if he does not repay my forbearance by repeating the attempt, he will be false to the traditions of his race.

CHAPTER XXXVI.

EPILOGUE.