They could not tell her that it was useless, that a doctor had seen the

child already, and that all was over. All they could do was to stand

round her with awe in their faces. She understood them without words.

Her hair fell from its knot, and her eyes began to blaze like the eyes

of a maniac.

"They've killed my child!" she cried. "He's dead! My little boy is dead!

Only seven, and it was his birthday! O God! My child! What had he done

that they should kill him?"

And then Bruno, who was standing by with a wild lustre in his eyes, said

between his teeth, "Done? Done nothing but live under a Government of

murderers and assassins."

The room filled with people. Neighbours who had never before set foot in

the rooms came in without fear, for death was among them. They stood

silent for the most part, only handing round the table the little cocked

hat and the mace, with sighs and deep breathing. But some one speaking

to Rossi told him what had happened. It was at the Spanish Steps. The

delegate gave the word, and the Carabineers fired over the people's

heads. But they hit the child and made him cold. His little heart had

burst.

"And I was going to whip him," said Elena. "Not a minute before I was

talking about the rod, and not giving him his supper. O God! I can never

forgive myself."

And then the blessed tears came and she wept bitterly.

David Rossi put his arms about her, and her head fell on his breast. All

barriers were broken down, and she clung to him and cried.

Just then cries came from the piazza--"Hurrah for the Revolution!" and

"Down with the destroyers of the people!"--the woolly tones of voices

shouting in the snow. Somebody on the stairs explained that a young man

was going about waving a bloody handkerchief, and that the sight of it

was exasperating the people to frenzy. Women were marching through the

streets, and the entire city was on the point of insurrection.

In the dining-room the stricken ones still stood around the couch.

Presently there was a sound of singing outside. A great crowd was coming

into the piazza, singing the Garibaldi Hymn. Bruno heard it, and the

wild lustre in his eyes gave place to a look of savage joy. An awful

oath burst from his lips, and he ran out of the house. At the next

moment he was heard in the street, singing in a thundering voice:




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