Ali obeyed with the passive readiness that was the distinctive mark of his devotion to Bruno.
While this was going on, Pascal tore up a napkin into strips, which he tied together, and rolled them in the powder he took out of a cartridge; he then put this match into the hole Ali had made in the barrel, and closed it with wet powder, which had the effect also of keeping the match in its place. He had scarcely finished his preparations when the sound of a hatchet was heard at the gate.
“Am I a good prophet?” said Bruno, as he rolled the barrel towards the door of the chamber which overlooked a staircase leading to the castle court, and then going back to fetch a piece of lighted fir from the fire.
“Ah!” said the Maltese, “now I begin to understand what you are going to do.”
“Father,” said Ali, “they are coming from the mountain with ladders.”
Bruno ran to the window from which he had fired in the first instance and plainly saw his adversaries, who had procured the scaling implement they so much needed, and, ashamed of their first retreat, were returning to the charge with renewed confidence.
“Are the guns loaded?” asked Bruno.
“Yes, father,” replied Ali, handing him a carbine.
Bruno, without looking back, took the gun the boy offered him, slowly brought it to his shoulder, and levelled with more care than he had yet exhibited; he fired, and one of the two men who carried the ladder fell.
Another man took his place, and Bruno took a second musket: the other soldier fell by the side of his comrade.