"My mother writhed on the ground where my father lay, in a dead swoon. My only hope was that one of the losing villains would kill me out of spite with the dagger he held in his clenched fist. I waited for this stroke—longed, prayed for it.
"Suddenly a horseman rode up the path. He spoke to one of the sentinels, who let him pass, exchanging a sign with him. He was of medium stature, imposing in mien and resolute in gaze. He came on at the walking pace of his horse, calm and tranquil. He stopped in front of me. The bandit who had clutched me turned round sharply at the first blow of the whistle which the stranger carried in the handle of his riding whip. He let me drop to the ground.
"'Come here,' said the horseman, and as the bandit hesitated, he formed a triangle with his arms, crossing his forefingers upon his breast.
"As though this were the token of a mighty master, the robber went up to the stranger, who stooped down to his ear, and said:
"'Mak.'
"I am sure he uttered but this single word, for I looked at him as one looks at the knife about to slay oneself, and listened as one does for the sentence of life or death.
"'Benak,' answered the highwayman.
"Subdued like a lion, with growling, he returned to me, untied the rope round my wrists, and did the same release for my parents. As the coin had been shared, every man went and put his portion on a flat rock. Not a piece was missing. Meanwhile I felt myself coming to life again in the hands of my father and mother.
"'Be off,' said the deliverer to the robbers, who obeyed and dived into the wood to the last man.
"'Lorenza Feliciani,' said the stranger, covering me with a superhuman gaze, 'you are free to go your way.'