On his shoulder was the cold discolored, rigid corpse of Lorenza, with her white hand sweeping the floor.
“As you said, this woman—whom I adored and was my treasure, my only joy, my very life—she betrayed us,” he said: “here she is—take her! The High Justicer of heaven did not wait for you to come and slay her.”
With a movement as swift as lightning, he slid the corpse out of his arms, and rolled it to the feet of the judges. The dark hair and inert hands struck them with all their profound horror while by the lamplight the wound glared with its ominous red, deeply yawning in the midst of the swan-white neck.
“Utter your sentence, now,” said Balsamo.
Aghast, the judges uttered a terror-stricken cry, and fled dizzily in confusion inexpressible. The horses of their carriage and escort were heard neighing in the yard and trampling; the carriage-gate groaned on its hinges and then solemn silence sat once more on the abode of death and despair.
CHAPTER XXXII.
MAN AND GOD.
NOTHING had meanwhile changed in the other part of the house. But the old wizard had seen Balsamo enter his study and carry away the remains of Lorenza, which had recalled him to life.
Shrieks of “Fire!” from the old man reached Balsamo, when, rid of his dread visitors, he had carried Lorenza back to the sofa where only two hours previously she had been reposing before the old sage broke in.
Suddenly he appeared to Althota’ eyes.
“At last,” said the latter, drunk with joy; “I knew you would have fear! see how I can revenge myself! It was well you came, for I was going to set fire to the place.”