Grasping his rifle, which had fallen from his hand, he gave a quick, energetic lurch to his body, which enabled him to face in the opposite direction to that in which he had been walking. Not twenty feet from him, Cromillian saw an old man, with long white hair, who was brandishing a sword—his own sword, for there was not another like it in Corsica—it was old Manassa!
“A life for a life!” he cried. “The Batistellis are avenged!”
The old man turned and, with surprising agility, ran in the direction of a thick grove of trees. A moment later he would have vanished from sight. With an almost superhuman effort, Cromillian raised his rifle and fired. A yell of pain was proof that the bullet had struck, but the wound was not a mortal one. Old Manassa kept on and disappeared among the trees.
The exertion was too much for Cromillian; his throat again filled with blood and, weakened by its loss, consciousness left him.
Shortly after the meeting between Cromillian and Pascal, during which the latter was killed, the Countess and Bertha, with their guests, Admiral Enright and his daughter Helen, were seated together in the library of the Castle Mont d’Oro. Suddenly, the conversation was interrupted by the entrance of a servant, who said:
“Adolphe, Monsieur Pascal Batistelli’s valet, wishes to speak with you, madame.”
The Countess arose. “I will go and see him. No; let him come in. We are all friends, and equally interested to hear what he may have to say.”
Adolphe entered shortly and told his story, somewhat disjointedly, but from it his hearers learned that a fight had taken place between Cromillian and Pascal, in which the latter had been killed; that Manassa had told him that Vandemar and Vivienne were in the dungeon chamber and that there they must die, for the paper telling how to open the door had been lost; that Manassa had gone, no one knew whither, and that his master lay unburied. “There is no head to the house, and I know not what to do,” he exclaimed. “I have come to you, Madame la Comtesse, for advice.”
The Countess turned to Bertha. “What can we say?” she asked, her voice trembling with excitement.
“We must leave it all to the Admiral,” replied Bertha.