Neri uttered a ferocious curse between his teeth, and looked for an instant like a wild beast ready to spring.

“You betrayed me,” he said in fierce yet smothered accents—­“you followed me—­you hunted me down!  Teresa told me all.  Yes—­she belongs to you now—­you have got your wish.  Go and take her—­she waits for you—­make her speak and tell you how she loves you—­if you can!”

Something jeering and withal threatening in the ruffian’s look, evidently startled the young officer, for he exclaimed hastily: 

“What do you mean, wretch?  You have not—­my God! you have not killed her?”

Carmelo broke into a loud savage laugh.

“She has killed herself!” he cried, exultingly.  “Ha, ha, I thought you would wince at that!  She snatched my knife and stabbed herself with it!  Yes—­rather than see your lying white face again—­rather than feel your accursed touch!  Find her—­she lies dead and smiling up there in the mountains and her last kiss was for me—­for me—­you understand!  Now go! and may the devil curse you!”

Again the gendarmes clashed their swords suggestively—­and the brigand resumed his sullen attitude of suppressed wrath and feigned indifference.  But the man to whom he had spoken staggered and seemed about to fall—­his pale face grew paler—­he moved away through the curious open-eyed by-standers with the mechanical air of one who knows not whether he be alive or dead.  He had evidently received an unexpected shock—­a wound that pierced deeply and would be a long time healing.

I approached the nearest gendarme and slipped a five-franc piece into his hand.

“May one speak?” I asked, carelessly.  The man hesitated.

“For one instant, signor.  But be brief.”

I addressed the brigand in a low clear-tone.

“Have you any message for one Andrea Luziani?  I am a friend of his.”

He looked at me and a dark smile crossed his features.

“Andrea is a good soul.  Tell him if you will that Teresa is dead.  I am worse than dead.  He will know that I did not kill Teresa.  I could not!  She had the knife in her breast before I could prevent her.  It is better so.”

“She did that rather than become the property of another man?” I queried.

Carmelo Neri nodded in acquiescence.  Either my sight deceived me, or else this abandoned villain had tears glittering in the depth of his wicked eyes.

The gendarme made me a sign, and I withdrew.  Almost at the same moment the officer in command of the little detachment appeared, his spurs clinking with measured metallic music on the hard stones of the pavement—­he sprung into his saddle and gave the word—­the crowd dispersed to the right and left—­the horses were put to a quick trot, and in a few moments the whole party with the bulky frowning form of the brigand in their midst had disappeared.  The people broke up into little