Abellino.—A starving wretch, the Republic holds none more miserable. Such am I at present; but hereafter—I have powers, knaves. This arm could pierce a heart, though guarded by three breastplates; this eye, though surrounded by Egyptian darkness, could still see to stab sure.
A Ruffian.—Why, then, did you strike me down, even now?
Abellino.—In the hope of being paid for it; but though I saved his life, the scoundrel gave me not a single ducat.
A Ruffian.—No? So much the better. But hark ye, comrade, are you sincere?
Abellino.—Despair never lies.
A Ruffian.—Slave, shouldst thou be a traitor—
Abellino.—My heart would be within reach of your hands, and your daggers would be as sharp as now.
The three dangerous companions again whispered among themselves for a few moments, after which they returned their daggers into the sheath.
“Come on, then,” said one of them, “follow us to our home. It were unwise to talk over certain matters in the open streets.”
“I follow you,” was Abellino’s answer, “but tremble should any one of you dare to treat me as a foe. Comrade, forgive me that I gave your ribs somewhat too hard a squeeze just now; I will be your sworn brother in recompense.”