"True; it was a sad day, this year; you were in prison."

"Do you remember how, five years ago, on that same day I got the prize in
the regatta at Venice?"

"Tell me about that, my child."

And he listened, his neck stretched forward, his mouth half open, his
hands in his son's. A sound of steps came in from the corridor, and a
dull knock was struck upon the door. It was the fatal hour. The poor
father had forgotten it.

The priests had already begun to sing the death hymn; the executioner was
ready, the procession had set out, when Solomon the fisherman appeared
suddenly on the threshold of the prison, his eyes aflame and his brow
radiant with the halo of the patriarchs. The old man drew himself up to
his full height, and raising in one hand the reddened knife, said in a
sublime voice, "The sacrifice is fulfilled. God did not send His angel
to stay the hand of Abraham."

The crowd carried him in triumph!

[The details of this case are recorded in the archives of the Criminal
Court at Naples. We have changed nothing in the age or position of the
persons who appear in this narrative. One of the most celebrated
advocates at the Neapolitan bar secured the acquittal of the old man.]