'They will let him go, like his brother,' growled an old man, fiercely.
'They will send him to Rome, and then let him go free, because he is a Roman,' said the crooked little carpenter.
And the little boy spat at Ippolito again, and dodged the hand of one of the soldiers and ran out. With protesting cries, and with many curses and many evil threats, the people allowed themselves to be pushed out without any violence.
'I am the sacristan,' said the fat man, objecting; and they let him stay.
'I am Concetta,' said the dark girl, gravely.
'Let her stay,' advised the sacristan. 'She saw the priest beat him yesterday.'
Ippolito had not spoken a word. He had folded his arms, and stood waiting for the confusion to end. He was fearless, but he could not realise, at first, that he might be seriously accused of the murder, and he believed that he should be set free very soon. He understood the treachery now, however, and his clear eyes fixed themselves on Tebaldo's face.
When the church was cleared, and the door fastened, the corporal stepped up to him. Two of his men had gone to examine the body, and to search for the weapon.
'You are accused of having killed that gentleman,' said the corporal, quietly. 'He is quite dead, and you are in the church with him. There is blood on both your hands. What have you to say?'