"Yes—yes!" shouted the abbé. "Drive the canaglia out of the court-yard! Donna Bianca Acorari, Signor Delegate, has no business to be here. She is a minor, and has no authority. She is being deceived by certain adventurers who have incited the peasants to revolt. You, Signor Capitano, give the order to charge, as the law requires you to do."
The delegate stamped his foot angrily. "In the name of the law, charge the crowd!" he shouted to the soldiers.
"No! I, Bianca Acorari, Principessina di Montefiano, forbid it! I will not have the people—my people—touched."
The Abbé Roux attempted to restrain her; but, breaking away from him, Bianca rushed down the steps. The soldiers mechanically made way for her to pass between their ranks; and erect, defiant, she stood between the troops and the excited mob confronting them.
The delegate, like the majority of the officials of Italian bureaucracy, was extremely sensitive in any thing which touched his official dignity or prerogative.
"Signorina," he exclaimed, "you will have the goodness to retire. We are not here to play a comedy. Signor Capitano, order your men to dislodge the mob from the court-yard."
Bianca turned to the officer, her eyes flashing with anger.
"Signore," she said, "your men are not assassins, and you—you will not give that order! The people have come to see me—to speak with me. Who has any right, excepting myself, to turn them away? That priest"—and she pointed with a scornful gesture to the Abbé Roux standing on the steps above—"has lied!"
The officer lowered the point of his sword.
"Signor Delegato," he said, "I protest. My men shall not charge."