That evening, the 9th of September, 1598, the two women, supping with the old man, mixed some narcotic with his wine so adroitly that, suspicious though he was, he never detected it, and having swallowed the potion, soon fell into a deep sleep.

The evening previous, Marzio and Olympio had been admitted into the castle, where they had lain concealed all night and all day; for, as will be remembered, the assassination would have been effected the day before had it not been for the religious scruples of Signora Lucrezia Petroni.  Towards midnight, Beatrice fetched them out of their hiding-place, and took them to her father’s chamber, the door of which she herself opened.  The assassins entered, and the two women awaited the issue in the room adjoining.

After a moment, seeing the sbirri reappear pale and nerveless, shaking their heads without speaking, they at once inferred that nothing had been done.

“What is the matter?” cried Beatrice; “and what hinders you?”

“It is a cowardly act,” replied the assassins, “to kill a poor old man in his sleep.  At the thought of his age, we were struck with pity.”

Then Beatrice disdainfully raised her head, and in a deep firm voice thus reproached them:—­

“Is it possible that you, who pretend to be brave and strong, have not courage enough to kill a sleeping old man?  How would it be if he were awake?  And thus you steal our money!  Very well:  since your cowardice compels me to do so, I will kill my father myself; but you will not long survive him.”

Hearing these words, the sbirri felt ashamed of their irresolution, and, indicating by signs that they would fulfil their compact, they entered the room, accompanied by the two women.  As they had said, a ray of moonlight shone through the open window, and brought into prominence the tranquil face of the old man, the sight of whose white hair had so affected them.

This time they showed no mercy.  One of them carried two great nails, such as those portrayed in pictures of the Crucifixion; the other bore a mallet:  the first placed a nail upright over one of the old man’s eyes; the other struck it with the hammer, and drove it into his head.  The throat was pierced in the same way with the second nail; and thus the guilty soul, stained throughout its career with crimes of violence, was in its turn violently torn from the body, which lay writhing on the floor where it had rolled.

The young girl then, faithful to her word, handed the sbirri a large purse containing the rest of the sum agreed upon, and they left.  When they found themselves alone, the women drew the nails out of the wounds, wrapped the corpse in a sheet, and dragged it through the rooms towards a small rampart, intending to throw it down into a garden which had been allowed to run to waste.  They hoped that the old man’s death would be attributed to his having accidentally fallen off the terrace on his way in the dark to a