All this foreknowledge rushed upon the mind of Raphael, and for a moment he was paralyzed with dismay; but a moment only.
The next saw him tear Francesca from the grasp of the conte, whom he thrust without much ceremony aside.
In an instant the blade of the colonel's sword glittered in his hand.
"In guardia, signore! in guardia!" cried he, in a voice that was tremulous with rage; while Raphael, who had no other weapon than the short sword-bayonet of the Bersagliere, promptly drew it to defend himself, and therewith he parried one or two thrusts that were aimed at his breast. As yet the colonel had not recognized him, for the cavern was dark, or only lit by the tiny votive lamp that flickered above the humble couch of Francesca. "Ha, Signore Spadaccino!" said Manfredi, mockingly, "I'll be through your body this time."
But, by a rapid circular parry and great strength of wrist, Raphael twisted the sword from the hand of the conte, who then drew a pistol. All this passed in a few seconds; while Francesca, crouching behind Raphael, looked upward with her face blanched by terror. And now, as he levelled the pistol, the conte for the first time discovered that his antagonist was a soldier.
"Como vi chiamente (what is your name)?" he asked, in a voice of thunder.
"Raphael Velda, signore."
"Ehi! one of my own men, too!"
"Illustrissimo—si—I have the honour," replied Raphael, with a profound salute, but keeping his sword drawn, nevertheless.
"Oh, Raphael! my love! my love! you are lost! Spare him, Signore Colonello! spare him!" cried Francesca. "He is too young to die!"