Peppina’s voice was passionately contemptuous. They had turned out of the piazza and were passing along the narrow street at the end of which is Pasquino’s mutilated figure.
“I will be even with him,” repeated Cesare.
“There was money in it, English money, too, which is better. And now Angelo suffers as well.”
“Have I not said that I will be even with him? Do not throw words about,” he exclaimed, turning sharply on her. “My blood is hot enough without your putting fire to it.”
“Eh—and those are my thanks!” cried the girl, flinging from him.
He made no answer, and they walked sullenly abreast of each other till they had passed the tragic block of the Cancellaria where Rossi was killed. Then Peppina drew nearer, glancing from time to time at her lover.
“What shall you do?” she said at last in a low voice.
He did not answer her directly.
“You can find out where he goes, what he does?” he said at last.
“From one or the other—yes.”