The rage and fury of Grimaldi and his party were now worked up to the highest pitch. The mass was interrupted, the church deserted, and the whole village a scene of uproar. Orso Paolo fled as soon as he had fired the fatal shot, pursued by his enemies, who overtook and surrounded him. His fate had been sealed on the spot, but that, quick as lightning, he burst through the throng and darted into a house of which the door stood open. It was the house of Grimaldi, his deadly foe, but there was no other chance of escaping instant death. To close and bar the door, and stand on his defence, was the work of a moment. Corsican houses are strongholds; Orso Paolo was in possession of the enemy's fortress. He threatens death to the first assailant, and the boldest recoil. What was to be done? It was proposed to set fire to the house, but Ruggero's youngest son, a child of seven or eight years old, had been left asleep in the house when the family went to church. He would perish in the flames. At that thought Grimaldi became irresolute. Just at this moment the eldest son is brought from the church, bleeding to death from his mortal wound, amidst lamentations and women's shrieks. At that spectacle Ruggero can no longer contain himself. Frantic with grief, he runs to set fire to his own house. The voice of nature pleading for his remaining child is stifled by passion and resentment. The tears and expostulations of the wretched mother are of no avail; they have no influence over the mind of the infuriated father.
“What are you doing, cruel Ruggero?” she cried, in the midst of sobs and groans; “Is it for you to fill up our cup of misery? Will you destroy the dearest and sweetest of our hopes? One son is gasping his last breath before our eyes, the other, still in infancy, will perish from the transports of your rage. Who, then, will be the support of our miserable old age? Who will defend us from the insults of the powerful?”
“So that Orso Paolo perish, let the world be at an end!” exclaimed Ruggero. Such is the terrible force of the passions in the human breast.
Ruggero's house is burning, the fire crackles, the flames burst forth, the sparkles fill the air. Vincenti, involved in smoke and flame, rushes from place to place, seeking a retreat to prolong his life for a few moments. All at once he is startled by the wailing cries of a child. He directs his steps towards it, and discovers, with amazement, the son of his cruel enemy. Struck with indignation at the father's barbarity, he suddenly raises his hand to take vengeance on the child of his relentless adversary. The boy utters a plaintive cry, and stretches its little hands towards him, trembling and frightened.
“Take courage, my boy, take courage!” said Vincenti, snatching him to his bosom; “you see a man who is not deaf to the voice of pity. If Heaven will not protect your innocency, at least you shall die in the arms of a second father.”
Meanwhile, the fire spreads through every part of the building; nothing can resist the fury of the devouring flames. Fanned by the wind, they surge in waves, ever greedy of new food. The roof quivers, the floors crack, the whole falls with a terrible crash. What chance was there for Vincenti's escape with life? He had abandoned all hopes.
Ruggero, satiated with vengeance, retires to the house of a relation, to which his wounded son had been removed. The spectacle of his sufferings, his imminent danger, and the sobs and lamentations of his inconsolable wife, awaken in his soul the affections of a father. A faint ray of reason penetrates his mind, and he perceives all the horrors of his proceeding. Trouble, remorse, repentance, succeed; his heart is wrung with anguish, and he attempts his own life. Friends interfere to restrain him.
At the news of the atrocity committed by the Grimaldi, in firing the house and leaving their enemy to perish in the ruins, the kinsmen of Orso Paolo assemble and rush to Monte d'Olmo, threatening vengeance on the perpetrators. The Grimaldi rally round Ruggero to shield him from his exasperated enemies. Just then, shouts are raised in the piazza, mingled with the name of Vincenti, and at intervals with gentler sounds which speak to the heart of the wife of Ruggero.
She flies to the window, and exclaiming, “Oh heaven! Orso Paolo! My son! My son! My son!” falls speechless and fainting on the floor. The spectacle which produced this vivid emotion was that of the noble Vincenti, who, scorched, and covered with ashes, and pressing the child firmly to his breast, was hastening on amid the acclamations and evvivas of the populace. He had taken refuge under an arch of the staircase, clasping the child firmly in his arms.
Ruggero's wife, recovering from her swoon, runs and throws herself into the arms of Vincenti, calling him the preserver and father of her beloved son. Ruggero, full of admiration and gratitude, salutes Vincenti, with a modest humility, invoking his pardon, and begging his friendship. Vincenti embraces him, pardons him, and swears eternal friendship for him. The wounded youth unexpectedly recovers, the two factions become friends, and the generous Vincenti, loaded with praises and benedictions, had the happiness to extinguish an inveterate feud between the two families, and thus restore peace to the community of Castel d'Acqua.