"Here—you—shut up your head and let a man think," said Bruno.
Roma tried to rise. She could not. Then she tried to cry out something, but her tongue clave to the roof of her mouth. Would Bruno break down at the last moment?
Bruno, whose face was convulsed with agony, began to laugh in a delirious way. "So my friend is false to me, is he? Very well, I'll be revenged."
He reeled a little and the letter dropped from his hand, floated a moment in the air, and fell to the ground a pace or two farther on.
"Yes, by God, I'll be revenged," he cried, and he laughed again.
He stopped, lifted one leg, seemed to pull at his boot, and again stood erect.
"I always knew the hour would come when I should find myself in a tight place, and I've always kept something about me to help me to get out of it. Here it is now."
In an instant, before any one could be aware of what he was doing, he had uncorked a small bottle which he held in his hand and swallowed the contents.
"Long live David Rossi!" he cried, and he flung the empty bottle over his head.
Everybody was on his feet in a moment. It was too late. In thirty seconds the poison had begun its work, and Bruno was reeling in the arms of the Carabineers. Somebody called for a doctor. Somebody else called for a priest.