Thus spoke the somewhat timid defence of the disciples of the Albertina; but Salomon exclaimed--
"Sir, it is an ambuscade, a species of brigantaggio! Intellect is our only stiletto, with which we have been favoured by nature. You appear to be a foreigner, for you curse in the language of the Inferno, but we do not tolerate such attempts here, we protest!"
"We protest," cried several students, waving their little liqueur glasses.
Spiegeler now stood foaming with rage before the signor, who with folded arms bid defiance to public opinion.
"You shall not escape me, there are judges in Prussia; we are not in the inn at Terracina, my Signor Fra Diavolo, and do not permit ourselves to be attacked."
And as he let his second crutch fall, and caught his opponent by a coat button, he cried as loudly as his hoarse squeaking voice would permit him--
"Your name, sir--your name!"
Baluzzi, bowing politely, gave him a card.
"Then our prime-donne are allied to Italian bravi? They possess a little robber's cave close to their drawing-rooms? Is truth to be cudgelled? You are mistaken, sir! We shall not allow ourselves to be intimidated, we will even expose the matter in a trenchant article, and as far as Signora Giulia is concerned--you have broken my eye-glasses, sir! I shall now make use of a magnifying lens, which not the smallest failing can escape, and if hitherto I have beaten her with rods, I will now scourge her with scorpions."
Salomon meanwhile had picked up the crutches for the critic, who during his angry speech had supported himself upon the table; he now limped out of the room, followed by the students, whose cries of "Bravo Spiegeler" accompanied him, for they looked upon the critic as a species of clown, who first in newspapers, then in inn parlours, performed somersaults for the general amusement.