The little party quitted the sombre gallery and made their way into the open air. After they had gone about twenty yards the guides came to an abrupt halt and one of them pointed to the centre of the vast gladiatorial arena.
"Look, signor!" he said to M. Morrel. "There stands the maniac of the Colosseum!"
Maximilian and Valentine peered quickly and anxiously in the direction indicated but saw nothing.
"There, signor!" repeated the cicerone, still pointing.
Then, all of a sudden, Maximilian and Valentine beheld the figure of a man standing as motionless as a statue beside a vast fragment of stone. The moonlight fell full upon a manly, noble form, revealing a handsome countenance that might have belonged to one of the old Roman gods. The man's dress was in picturesque disorder and on his bare head was a crown of ivy leaves. In one hand he held a tall staff, while the other was lifted menacingly.
"Hark!" said one of the guides, with a shudder. "He is cursing!"
M. and Mme. Morrel listened, horror-stricken, filled with a nameless dread. A faint, but distinct murmur reached them, gradually swelling in volume. It was a fierce, bitter malediction, full of intense, burning hatred, seeming to embrace God, man and the entire universe in its scope.
The guides fell upon their knees, uncovered their heads and prayed to the Virgin in low tones.
Maximilian took Valentine by the hand.