“Thank you; my friends. Since sooner or later you will be obliged to aim true, do not prolong my death-agonies. All I ask you is to aim at the heart and spare the face. Now——”
With the same voice, the same calm, the same expression, he repeated the fatal words one after another, without lagging, without hastening, as if he were giving an accustomed command; but this time, happier than the first, at the word “Fire!” he fell pierced by eight bullets, without a sigh, without a movement, still holding the watch in his left hand.
The soldiers took up the body and laid it on the bed where ten minutes before he had been sitting, and the captain put a guard at the door.
In the evening a man presented himself, asking to go into the death-chamber: the sentinel refused to let him in, and he demanded an interview with the governor of the prison. Led before him, he produced an order. The commander read it with surprise and disgust, but after reading it he led the man to the door where he had been refused entrance.
“Pass the Signor Luidgi,” he said to the sentinel.
Ten minutes had hardly elapsed before he came out again, holding a bloodstained handkerchief containing something to which the sentinel could not give a name.
An hour later, the carpenter brought the coffin which was to contain the king’s remains. The workman entered the room, but instantly called the sentinel in a voice of indescribable terror.
The sentinel half opened the door to see what had caused the man’s panic.
The carpenter pointed to a headless corpse!
At the death of King Ferdinand, that, head, preserved in spirits of wine, was found in a secret cupboard in his bedroom.