The covert sneer conveyed in this speech made the peppery Italian fire up.
"What do you mean by that?" he demanded, fiercely.
"I mean that your gallant followers must have missed so distinguished a leader; pity you could not return to lead them to fresh triumphs, greatly as we should deplore your loss."
Toro boiled over at this.
"Do you want to fix a quarrel on me?" he asked, in a voice of suppressed passion.
"No," replied Tomaso, insolently. "When I want to quarrel, I go straight to my point; I don't beat about the bush. I only want to remind you of your proper place here so fall back, Signor Italiano, and learn to be more respectful in your bearing."
Stung to the quick by this, Toro plucked out his sword, and would have rushed upon the other, had not several of the men interposed.
"Come, come," they said, "none of that. We have plenty of enemies; we can cut their throats, not our own, when we want to spill blood."
"Besides," said an old man, "it is profitless quarrelling about the leadership—we have a leader. Poor Mathias!"
"Right," echoed several voices together, "right. Sit down; no quarrelling."