"Bravo!" they cried.
Count Hermann looked proudly about and said:
"Only as late as yesterday I had an opportunity to show the Milanese who is master here."
"Tell us, comrade; tell us all about it," came from all sides.
"Well, last evening, about six o'clock, I was going across the Piazza Fontana, when two confounded Italians—a lady about forty years of age, dressed in deep mourning, and a young sixteen-year-old boy—approached me. They took one side of the pavement and did not stir to let me pass. I was walking along smoking a cigar, and did not look up; the lady did not move, and you can understand—"
The count made a gesture signifying that the lady had lost her balance, and, amid the coarse laughter of his comrades, he continued:
"I went ahead, but the young booby ran after me, cursed me, and tore my cigar out of my mouth. I drew my sword, but the woman clutched my arm and cried: 'You killed the father on the 3d of January, on the Corsa dei Servi—spare the son.'
"With my sword," continued Count Hermann, "I struck the woman over the hands until she let go of my arm, and then I broke the young fellow's skull. The people crowded around, and the police arrived, to whom I told the affair."
"Did the dastardly wretch lie dead on the ground?" asked a young officer.
"No, the police took him away; but after the explanations I gave, I think he must be tried at once; in urgent cases a criminal can be hanged inside of twenty-four hours."