It was a foolish beginning, for they had no weapons—they only possessed burning patriotism, and their hatred of the foreign oppressor.
A shot now fell, and at the same time the tall form of Count San Pietro loomed up, giving commands to the soldiers to make the attack—an attack against a defenceless crowd of human beings. As soon as the students heard the shot, they surrounded the carriage of the diva again. The latter tried to encourage the trembling Milla. As for herself, she had no fear, and though she could not understand Aslitta's absence, she was far from imagining the truth.
Suddenly San Pietro's repulsive features appeared at the carriage window, and Luciola's heart ceased beating.
Had he betrayed Aslitta?
The count had arranged things well. Narrower and narrower grew the circle about the patriots, and the students tried in vain to draw the carriage away from the soldiers.
"Luciola," said the count, maliciously, "do you still think you can escape me?"
Luciola drew herself up, and casting a look of contempt at the count, she cried, in loud, clear tones:
"Miserable coward!"
San Pietro uttered a cry of rage, and lifted his sword aloof.
Luciola looked coolly at him; not a muscle of her fine face quivered, but her hand grasped the jewelled hilt of a dagger.