“Now we are on this subject,” interrupted the Princess of Butera, “is there any one else in this company who has seen Pascal Bruno, and who has spoken to him? I dote upon tales of brigands, they make me ready to die with fright.”
“There is the Countess of Castel Nuovo,” observed the Albanian; “she has seen him.”
Gemma started, and every one looked at her as if to interrogate her.
“Can it be true?” said the prince, turning towards her.
“Yes,” said Gemma, trembling; “but I had forgotten it.”
“He remembers it,” muttered the young man.
All the company pressed round the princess, who in vain endeavoured to make excuses; she in her turn was obliged to relate the scene with which we opened this tale to tell how Bruno entered her chamber; how the prince fired at him; and how the bandit, to avenge himself, entered the villa on the nuptial day and killed Teresa’s husband. This history was the most terrible of all, and it produced a deep sensation in the minds of the listeners; something like a shudder ran through the whole assembly, and had it hot been for the dresses of the guests, you would hardly have thought you were present at a fête.
“On my honour,” said Captain Altavilla, who was the first to break silence, “the greatest crime the bandit has committed is in rendering this fête so melancholy; I could have pardoned him all his other misdeeds; but for this I swear, by my epaulettes, I will have vengeance; and from this moment I devote myself to his pursuit.”
“Do you speak seriously, Captain Altavilla?” said the Albanian.
“Yes, on my honour!” replied the captain; “and I here declare there is nothing I so much wish for as to meet him face to face.”