“Scoundrel!” he cried. “What do you here?”
For sole reply, Federico seized his assailant by the throat, and a struggle began, which, although speedily decided in favour of the active student, was destined to have most important results. The Count was vigorous, and defended himself well. He had little opportunity of calling out, closely grappled as he was, but he dealt his antagonist more than one heavy blow. At last Federico dashed him to the ground, and disappeared from the room, leaving behind him one of his coat-skirts, torn off in the contest. In falling, the Count’s head struck against a table, and he lay for a few seconds stunned by the shock. Recovering himself, he sprang to his feet, foaming with rage, his dark visage black with shame and anger. “Seize him!” he cried, hurrying down the corridor. Twenty servants flew to obey the order. But it was too late. The student passed like a fire-flash before the porter, and made good his escape from the house. “Follow him!” shouted the Count—“a hundred ounces for his capture!” And, stimulated by this princely reward, the eager domestics ran, like hounds after a deer, on the track of the student, who soon heard the shouts of his enemies, and the shrill whistle of the serenos, around and on all sides of him.
Although panting from his brief but violent struggle with the Count, Federico traversed with extreme swiftness several streets and squares, until want of breath at last compelled him to a moment’s pause. He looked around, and observed the locality. Before him lay the massive buildings of the royal palace, favoured by whose shadow he continued his flight, now up-hill. But the numbers of his pursuers gave them a great advantage; and, to his dismay, he found himself so closely and accurately followed, that capture appeared inevitable.
“Had I but my knife,” he exclaimed aloud, pausing in despair, “I would keep them off or die! Fool that I have been! Sentries on all sides! They have taken alarm! What can I do?”
“Go to Ciudad Real, if not too late,” said a man, wrapped in a cloak, and wearing a small three-cornered hat, who suddenly stepped from behind a massive stone column, close to where the student stood.
Federico at once recognised the speaker.
“For God’s sake, Geronimo!” he cried, “assist me in this strait. If they catch me, I am lost. And hark! yonder they come! I hear the baying of the menial pack. On all sides the way is barred!”
Geronimo seized Federico’s hand, and hurried him behind the pillar. “There is only one chance,” he said; “muffle yourself in my cloak, take my hat, assume a stoop, and walk slowly, like an old man.”
“What is your plan?” cried the student.
“Ask no questions. Do as I bid you. Do you see yonder door?”