"Is the song ended?" said Matteo.
"Not ended—but you have heard enough," was the answer of the improvisatore.
"Let's hear it out," cried the chief.
"Let's hear it out," echoed the bandits.
Again rose the rich, full tones, but with deeper emphasis, more thrilling expression.
Such madmen amongst us live and dwell
Such madmen amongst us die;
A father's message is heard—forgot;
A treasure offered—accepted not;
Men wildly prefer the demon's lot,
To freedom and life on high!
A king's free pardon—a parent's stay,
Infinite wealth may be theirs to-day.
Oh! Madmen, to cast them all away!
The song ceased. There was an instant of deep stillness, and then Beppo flung a tankard at the head of the speaker, as his comment on a moral so unwelcome.
By a quick movement, Raphael avoided the blow; Enrico glanced fiercely at Beppo; the Rossignol laid his hand on his brother's arm, as if to restrain him from expression of anger, and without taking any other notice of the insult, arose from his seat.
The countenances of the banditti, as Horace looked down upon them, would have been a study for a painter. The music had a very different effect upon its various hearers. Beppo's face was flushed with passion, while over that of Marco, a powerful man who sat next to him, gathered a gloomy scowl. A third wore a mocking sneer, a glance that seem to say that while he admired the music, he cared nothing for the moral of the song.
Enrico's expression, after the glance of indignation had passed away, was that of silent misery which he made a vain effort to conceal. The bow might have been drawn at a venture, but in one heart the barbed arrow was rankling.