"But he will return, poor Jacopo."
"Signore, he will never return. He is with the fishes of the Lagunes."
"By thy hand, monster!"
"By the justice of the illustrious Republic," said the Bravo, with a smothered but bitter smile.
"Ha! they are then awake to the acts of thy class? Thy repentance is the fruit of fear!"
Jacopo seemed choked. He had evidently counted on the awakened sympathy of his companion, notwithstanding the difference in their situations, and to be thus thrown off again, unmanned him. He shuddered, and every muscle and nerve appeared about to yield its power. Touched by so unequivocal signs of suffering, Don Camillo kept close at his side, reluctant to enter more deeply into the feelings of one of his known character, and yet unable to desert a fellow-creature in so grievous agony.
"Signor Duca," said the Bravo, with a pathos in his voice that went to the heart of his auditor, "leave me. If they ask for a proscribed man, let them come here; in the morning they will find my body near the graves of the heretics."
"Speak, I will hear thee."
Jacopo looked up with doubt expressed on his features.
"Unburden thyself; I will listen, though thou recounted the assassination of my dearest friend."