"And now will you tell me what all this means, Egidio?" he asked quietly.
Valentini shrugged his shoulders sulkily.
"I was merely giving the children a little richly deserved punishment."
"Punishment! They are covered with cuts and welts and bruises! Thank Heaven they are still wearing their thick winter clothes—You might have killed them, Egidio, you would have, if you had not been stopped in time. As it is, it is a miracle that they are not maimed for life! Are you mad to think of touching the tender body of a child with a thing like this?" He bent the flexible blade of the foil, "I tell you that if their clothes had not protected them, you would have cut the flesh of those babies to ribbons!"
"But look, Rico," Valentini burst forth passionately, "look what they have done! I come in here and I find they have ruined my work, the picture that was to make my reputation—and that I shall have no chance to do again, if I could, for she has gone away!"
He wheeled the easel about, and Ferrati gazed aghast on the havoc wrought.
"My God, Egidio," he exclaimed, "this is awful!"
"And yet you blame me for punishing—" he said bitterly, but Ferrati interrupted him.
"You had provocation, I will admit; this is a terrible disappointment. But you are a man, Egidio, and to allow your rage to get the better of you to the extent that you would have murdered—yes, murdered is the word—those innocent children—"
"Innocent!"