“Ah! what of Mariano and Francisco and Lucien?” asked Paulina with increasing interest, while Zubby became desperately intelligent.
“Oh, he was sent on such a dangerous expedition,” continued Angela, blushing slightly, and more than slightly crying, “and when he was coming back he was caught in the streets, and carried off to that dreadful Bagnio, about which he has told me such awful horrors. So Bacri told me on his return, for Bacri had tried to save him, but couldn’t, and was nearly lost himself.—But what is all the noise about outside, sister—and the shooting off of guns?”
The noise referred to by the pretty Sicilian was caused by a party of rioters who, returning from the slaughter of the Dey, were hurrying towards the house of Bacri, intent on plunder. They were led by one of those big blustering men, styled bullies, who, in all lands, have a talent for taking the lead and talking loud when danger is slight, and modestly retiring when it is great.
Waving a scimitar, which already dripped with blood, this man headed the rushing crowd, and was the first to thunder for admittance at the Jew’s door. But no one answered his demands.
Shouting for a beam, he ran to a neighbouring pile of timber, and, with the aid of some others, returned bearing a battering-ram, which would soon have dashed in the door, if it had not been opened by Bacri himself, who had returned just in time to attempt to save his house from being pillaged.
For a few seconds the rioters were checked by surprise at the cool, calm bearing of the Jew. Then they dropped the beam, uttered a yell of execration, and rushed upon him, but were unexpectedly checked by one of their own number suddenly turning round, and in a voice of stern authority ordering the crowd to stand back.
The young janissary who acted thus unexpectedly was a tall handsome man of resolute bearing, but with a frame that rather denoted activity than strength. As he held a glittering sword threateningly in his right hand, his order was obeyed for a few seconds, and then it was observed that he held in his left hand a rope, which was tied round the neck of a Christian slave. This slave was none other than our unfortunate friend Francisco Rimini.
“Who art thou that issues commands so bravely?” demanded the bully, stepping forward.
“You must be aware, comrades,” said the young soldier, addressing the crowd rather than his interrogator, “that Sidi Hamet—now Dey of Algiers—has given strict orders that the houses of the Jews are to be respected. I am here to see these orders carried out.”
“And who art thou? again I demand,” said the bully, observing that his comrades showed a tendency to waver, “that dost presume to—”