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Girasole's face grew white with rage and jealousy. "Aha!" said he. "You lof him. Aha! An' you were engage to him. Aha!" "Yes, I really think so." "Aha! Well, listen," cried Girasole, in a hoarse voice "listen. He he de rival de one you say you are engage he is dead!"
Hawbury could not distinguish any face among the crowd of women that bent over Lady Dalrymple, and Ethel's face was thus still unrevealed; but he saw Minnie and Mrs. Willoughby and Girasole. "What the devil's all this about?" asked Hawbury, haughtily, as his horses stopped at the Baron's carriage. "You are prisoners " began Girasole.
Some debate arose as to whether it would not be better to go back to Rome now, and defy the Baron, and leave by another route. But this debate was soon given up, and they looked forward to the journey as one which might afford new and peculiar enjoyment. On the following morning they started at an early hour. Girasole left about half an hour after them, and passed them a few miles along the road.
I'll spread my dress over it so that you need not touch it. Come, dearest, only for five minutes." "Well, I'll sit on it just for a little mite of a time, if you promise not to tease me." "Tease you, dear! Why, of course not. Come." So Minnie went over and sat by her sister's side. In about an hour Girasole came back. The two sisters were seated there.
Now Girasole had chosen to say this to Hawbury from the conviction that Hawbury was Minnie's lover, and that the statement of this would inflict a pang upon the heart of his supposed rival which would destroy his coolness. Thus he chose rather to strike at Hawbury's jealousy than at his fear or at his pride. But he was disappointed. Hawbury heard his statement with utter indifference.
He had seen his men driven in, and was now hurrying up to the place to retrieve the battle. As he was running on he came up to the party at the grave. He stopped. "What's this?" he cried. "The prisoners we were securing them." It was now lighter than it had been, and dawn was not far off. The features of Girasole were plainly distinguishable.
For it was no other than the Count Girasole, and his eyes glowed with excitement and delight, and his hat was off and as far away from his head as possible, and a thousand emotions contended together for expression upon his swarthy and handsome countenance.
He brought before his mind the "stony British stare," the supercilious smile, and the impertinent and insulting expression of Hawbury's face as he sat on his saddle, with his chin up, stroking his whiskers, and surveyed him for the first time. All these things combined to stimulate the hate as well as the love of Girasole.
Before the ladies could recover from their astonishment two of the armed men advanced, and the driver at once stopped the carriage. Girasole then came forward. "Miladi," said he, "I haf de honore of to invitar you to descend." "Pray what is the meaning of this?" inquired Lady Dalrymple, with much agitation. "It means dat I war wrong. Dere are brigand on dis road."
"Come down here at once, you hag!" But the "hag" did not come down, nor did she give any answer. The "hag" was trembling violently, and saw that all was lost. If the priest were only here! If she could only have gone and returned with him! What kept him? Girasole now came to the top of the stairs, and spoke to Minnie. "Charming mees, are you awake?" "Yes," said Minnie.
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