"Jean leaped two feet in the air, like a child skipping, yes,
monsieur, and he fell back full on me, so that my gun went off and
rolled as far as the big chestnut tree over yonder.
"Jean's mouth was wide open, but he did not utter a word; he was
dead."
The young people gazed in amazement at the calm witness of this crime.
Jeanne asked:
"And what became of the assassin?"
Paoli Palabretti had a long fit of coughing and then said:
"He escaped to the mountain. It was my brother who killed him the
following year. You know, my brother, Philippi Palabretti, the
bandit."
Jeanne shuddered.
"Your brother a bandit?"
With a gleam of pride in his eye, the calm Corsican replied:
"Yes, madame. He was celebrated, that one. He laid low six gendarmes.
He died at the same time as Nicolas Morali, when they were trapped in
the Niolo, after six days of fighting, and were about to die of
hunger.