"To the right hand of her sister, since death has left none other to avenge her," cried the youth, in a voice rising almost to a shriek; and the bright barrel of a pistol glittered in the sunlight which streamed between the vine-leaves of the trellis. Levelling it full at Valerio, she fired, just as I struck up her weapon. From the tone of the voice, and the despair that glared in the eye, there flashed upon me a suspicion of the sex and purpose of this youth.
The ball dashed to pieces the head of the large waxen Madonna, which occupied a lofty niche at the corner of the street. A cry of "sacrilege, and murder!" arose, and the people rushed towards us from all quarters. As the smoke cleared, we discovered the imperturbable captain stroking his moustache, and smiling grimly, but with an air of exquisite nonchalance.
"Thrice my heart failed me; but he is destroyed at last!" cried Pompeia, in terrible accents, as she cast away the pistol (which she had fired with both her eyes closed), and sinking back on the rustic sofa, burst into a passion of tears.
"Holy St. John of Jerusalem, and of Rhodes, look here!" exclaimed Castelermo, while I seized her that she might not escape.
"Wretch!" muttered Marco.
"I am wretched, indeed!" she replied bitterly, still keeping her eyes closed; "yet I do not deem myself so abject as to be grasped thus with impunity. Unhand me, signor: I have only slain the destroyer of my sister's peace, my brother's life (perhaps my mother's too), and the fame of our family. Guiltless of wanton wickedness, I have only destroyed a ribald and reckless libertine, in the midst of his sinful boasting."
"Here is a devil of a damsel!" said Valerio, with a laugh. "Per Baccho! a pestilent narrow escape it was. But for you, Signor Claude, I might have been chaffering with Charon for a passage across the Styx, and squabbling, perhaps, with old Belcastro on the voyage. To your care I commend this amiable sample of her sex, while I canter off to the villa of Despina."
His servant at that moment rode up with a led horse, and he leaped into the saddle.
"Wretch!" shrieked Pompeia, "hast thou escaped that death so richly merited?"
"Safe and sound, my pretty termagant—aim better next time," replied the officer, caracoling his horse, to push back the clamorous crowd. "Adieu, Caro Marco! adieu, Signor Claude! your most humble servant, my pretty Pompeia. Ola! keep out of my horse's way, signori, the rabble: and so, buona sera, good-evening to everybody;" and, with a reckless laugh, he dashed off at a gallop through the street, which was darkening fast, as the sun had set. He was followed by a volley of execrations from the crowd, some of whom he tumbled into the kennel, as he pushed headlong through.