"Firenzi, then you, Pachotto, then you, Alieni, you will appeal to the dice. He who throws highest will have first choice of the jugs. Of the three who drink, one will live. It will take some time to settle this. The meeting will disperse, but a committee will return. The man whom they find alive will go with Beppo and Chigi and you, Pepe, to our meeting-place and put to sleep that girl. Those not surviving will be signed with our sign—but only one thrust for each paranza of this district.—Filippi Alieni, what is the matter with you? You show no feeling at what I say!"
For all his brilliant, questioning eyes, it was true he looked extremely blank; his expression too often merely followed theirs with an opposite. "Well, there must always be a first time. It is true, Alieni, is it not so, that you have never suppressed a life?"
There are bitternesses which fear cannot quench. Having no free hand to beat his breast he turned his head with restless passion from side to side and in a high, shrill, wild desolation, a Latin sweetness of hysteria roughened by his grinding laugh, he cried aloud, "Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa!"
"There is no need for irreverence!" exclaimed Mr. Gumama, scandalized. "That is all. Loose their bonds."
Firenzi and Pachotto ran to examine the jugs, voting simultaneously for the immunity of the golden scales—what others? So that the first choice would be all important. But the third prisoner had given his last flash. He dropped his shivering face and hid it in his hands.
"Sit!"
They dropped beside the table.
"Swear obedience to the decree of Fate!"
All three laid a hand on the crossed triangular knives. Mr. Gumama purposed the oath. "Filippi Alieni, your lips shake so that you do not repeat distinctly. Say, I swear!"
"I swear!"