“Forward!”
The firing began. Don Luigi was placing his hopes in a panic. He was untiringly discharging his long-range pistols with most marvellous energy. As the multitude was dense, no shot went astray. The cries arising after every discharge excited the servants and increased their ardour. Already disorder invaded the mutineers. A great many were running away, leaving the wounded on the ground.
Then a cry of victory arose from the group of the domestics.
“Long live the Duke of Ofena!” These cowardly men were growing brave, as they beheld the backs of their enemy. They no longer remained hidden, no longer shot at haphazard, but, having risen to their feet, were aiming at the people. And every time they saw a man fall, would cry, “Long live the Duke!”
Within a short time the palace was freed from the siege. All around the wounded ones lay, groaning. The residue of the sticks, which were still burning over the ground and crackling as they died out, cast upon the bodies uncertain flashes of light reflected in the pools of blood. The wind had grown, striking the old oaks with a creeping sound. The barking of dogs, answering one another, resounded throughout the valley.
Intoxicated by their victory and broken down with fatigue, the domestics went downstairs to partake of some refreshments. They were all unhurt. They drank freely and abundantly. Some of them announced the names of those they had struck, and described the way they had fallen. The cook was boasting of having killed the terrible Rocco Furci; and as they became excited by the wine the boasting increased.
VI
Now, while the Duke of Ofena feeling safe, for at least that night, from any danger, was attending the whining Carletto, a glare of light from the south was reflected in the mirror, and new clamours arose through the gusts of the south wind beneath the palace. At the same time four or five servants appeared, who, while sleeping, intoxicated, in the rooms below, had been almost suffocated by the smoke. They had not yet recovered their senses, staggering, being unable to talk, as their tongues were thick with drink. Others came running up, shouting:
“Fire! Fire!”
They were trembling, leaning against one another like a herd of sheep. Their native cowardice had again overtaken them. All their senses were dull as in a dream. They did not know what they ought to do, nor did the consciousness of real danger urge them to use a ruse as a means of escape.