He suffered a glance of crushing contempt to fall upon the prince, then going to a cupboard hidden in the wall, he drew out a rifle and an axe.

“Here,” said he, “are all the weapons in the house; choose.”

A flash of joy illuminated the countenance of the prince, who had hitherto suppressed his rage.  He seized the rifle eagerly, drew three steps backward, and drawing himself up to his full height, said, “You would have done better to lend me this weapon at the beginning; for then I would have been spared from witnessing your silly vapourings and frantic convulsions.  Thanks, young-man; one of my servants will bring you back your gun.  Farewell.”

And he threw him his purse, which fell heavily at the fisherman’s feet.

“I lent you that rifle to fight with me,” cried Gabriel, whom surprise had rooted to the spot.

“Move aside, my lad; you are out of your senses,” said the prince, taking a step towards the door.

“So you refuse to defend yourself?” asked Gabriel in a determined voice.

“I have told you already that I cannot fight with you.”

“Why not?”

“Because such is the will of God; because you were born to crawl and I to trample you under my feet; because all the blood that I could shed in this island would not purchase one drop of my blood; because a thousand lives of wretches like you are not equal to one hour of mine; because you will kneel at my name that I, am now going to utter; because, in short, you are but a poor fisherman and my name is Prince of Brancaleone.”

At this dreaded name, which the young nobleman flung, like a thunderbolt, at his head, the fisherman bounded like a lion.  He drew a deep breath, as though he had lifted a weight that had long rested on his heart.

“Ah!” he cried, “you have given yourself into my hands, my lord!  Between the poor fisherman and the all-powerful prince there is a debt of blood.  You shall pay for yourself and for your father.  We are going to settle our accounts, your excellency,” he added, rising his axe over the head of the prince, who was aiming at him.  “Oh! you were in too great haste to choose:  the rifle is not loaded.”  The prince turned pale.

“Between our two families,” Gabriel continued, “there exists a horrible secret which my mother confided to me on the brink of the grave, of which my father himself is unaware, and that no man in the world must learn.  You are different, you are going to die.”

He dragged him into the space outside the house.

“Do you know why my sister, whom you wished to dishonour, was vowed to the Madonna?  Because your father, like you, wished to dishonour my mother.  In your accursed house there is a tradition of infamy.  You do not know what slow and terrible torments my poor mother endured-torments that broke her strength and caused her to die in early youth, and that her angelic soul dared confide to none but her son in that supreme hour and in order to bid me watch over my sister.”