The sleeper started at the summons.
I watched his countenance. He read Cristofano's errand in his eye. But he quailed not.
"Cowardly assassin!" he cried, "you have well consulted your own safety in stealing on my sleep."
"And who taught me the lesson?" fiercely interrupted the old man. "Am I the first that have stolen on midnight slumber? Gaze upon this? When and how did it acquire its dye?" And he held forth a glove, which looked blackened and stained in the moonlight.
The marchese groaned aloud.
"My cabinet broken open!" at length he exclaimed—"villain! how dare you do this? But why do I rave? I know with whom I have to deal." Uttering these words he sprung from his couch with the intention of grappling with the old man; but Cristofano retreated, and at that instant the brigands, who rushed to his aid, thrust me forward. I was face to face with the marchese.
The apparition of the murdered man could not have staggered him more. His limbs were stiffened by the shock, and he remained in an attitude of freezing terror.
"Is he come for vengeance?" he ejaculated.
"He is!" cried Cristofano. "Give him the weapon!"
And a stiletto was thrust into my hand. But I heeded not the steel. I tore open my bosom—a small diamond cross was within the folds.