'But I do not wish to kill anybody,' said Francesco, at last, with an uneasy laugh.
Concetta started and stared at him, too much astonished to despise him yet.
'You do not wish to kill the Saracinesca!' Her face expressed blank amazement. 'But then, why have you come?'
'Not to murder anyone, at all events. You are quite mad.'
'Mad? I? Mad? Is not the body of your murdered brother lying there, on the other side of that wall? Does not his blood cry out for the blood of those who killed him? Have you not come to do justice? Have I not brought you to a safe place? And you call me mad!'
'Quite mad,' reiterated Francesco, coolly.
She stared at him a moment longer, and an immense contempt rose in her eyes.
'Give me your rifle,' she said in a different tone. 'I will kill him, since you are afraid.'
'I am not in the least afraid,' answered Francesco, with the too ready resentment against a woman's accusation of cowardice, which a real coward always shows. 'Not that I see why I should risk being sent to penal servitude because my brother got himself killed in a foolish affair—'