towards the bed, and addressing unspoken reproaches to himself, when
Gabriel swooped upon him with a wounded tiger's fierce gnashing of the
teeth.

Brancaleone, by a bold and rapid movement that showed no common degree of
skill and bravery, while struggling in the grasp of his powerful
adversary, drew forth in his right hand a long dagger with a fine barbed
blade. Gabriel smiled scornfully, snatched the weapon from him, and even
as he stooped to break it across his knee, gave the prince a furious blow
with his head that made him stagger and sent him rolling on the floor,
three paces away; then, leaning over his poor sister and gazing on her
with hungry eyes, by the passing gleam of a flash, "Dead!" he repeated,
wringing his arms in despair,--"dead!"

In the fearful paroxysm that compressed his throat he could find no other
words to assuage his rage or to pour forth his woe. His hair, which the
storm had flattened, rose on his head, the marrow of his bones was
chilled, and he felt his tears rush back upon his heart. It was a
terrible moment; he forgot that the murderer still lived.

The prince, however, whose admirable composure did not for a moment
desert him, had risen, bruised and bleeding. Pale and trembling with
rage, he sought everywhere for a weapon with which to avenge himself.
Gabriel returned towards him gloomier and more ominous than ever, and
grasping his neck with an iron hand, dragged him into the room where the
old man was sleeping.

"Father! father! father!" he cried in a piercing voice, "here is the
Bastard who Has just murdered Nisida!"