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