"That's all right," said Bruno. "God is a good old saint. He'll look after a poor devil like me." Then he began to sing:—
"The tombs are uncovered,
The dead arise,
The martyrs are rising
Before our eyes."
"Long live David Rossi!" he cried again, and at the next moment he was being carried out of court.
In the tumult that ensued everybody was standing in the well of the judges' horse-shoe table. The deaf old woman, with her shawls slipping off her shoulders, was wringing her hands and crying. "God will think of this," she said. The Garibaldian was gazing vacantly out of his rheumy eyes and saying nothing. Roma, who had recovered control of herself, was looking at the letter, which she had picked up from the floor.
"GOD WILL LOOK AFTER A POOR DEVIL LIKE ME."
"Mr. President," she cried over the heads of the others, "this letter is not in Mr. Rossi's handwriting. It is a forgery. I am ready to prove it."
At that moment one of the Carabineers came back to tell the judges that all was over.
"Gone!" said one after another, more often with a motion of the mouth than with the voice.