The corporal had just finished dealing the cards, when the soldier again appeared.
"Corporal," he said, breathlessly, "the Poliziotti are giving way, the Croatians are decimated—shall we go to their rescue?"
"Bah! we are only a handful," growled the corporal. "Let us await the result."
The door closed behind the soldier. Bartolomeo now sprang up, took the sword and gun from the drunken corporal, and cried in his ear:
"Obey my order, or you are a dead man!"
"What—should—I—do?" stammered the corporal, partly sobered.
"Hoist the white flag—quick!"
"But I—have—no—authority—here!"
"Who cares?" exclaimed Bartolomeo, "give the order—the people will be needlessly sacrificed—are you going now?"
The corporal still hesitated, but just then a police sergeant ran in and cried: