"Alas! alas!"—cried Petreius, "Raise her up; raise them both, this is most lamentable!"—
"Never heed me!" said the veteran Pansa, eagerly, to the officers who were busy raising him from the ground. "Help the poor girl! Help the brave youth! He may be[pg 242] living yet, though I fear me not. It is my fault, alas! that he is not living now!"
"Thy fault, old Pansa, how can that be, my friend?—who slew him?"
Once more the rigid features of Catiline relaxed into a horrid smile, the glaring eyes again opened, and starting half upright he shook his hand aloft, and with a frightful effort, half laugh, half groan, half words articulate, sneered fiendishly—"I! I. Ha! ha! I did. Ha! ha! ha! ha!"—
But at the same instant there was a joyous cry from the officers who had lifted Paullus, and a rapturous shriek from Julia.
"He is not dead!"
"His hurts are not mortal, lady, it is but loss of blood,"
"He lives! he lives!"—
"Curses! cur—cur—ha! ha!—this—this is—Hades!"
The fierce sneer died from the lips, a look of horror glared from the savage eyes, the jaw gibbered and fell, a quick spasm shook the strong frame, and in a paroxysm of frustrated spite, and disappointed fury, the dark spirit, which had never spared or pitied, went to its everlasting home.