"Princess, I implore you--"
"You are a coward, Marc'antonio."
"Have it so," he answered sullenly. "It is God's truth, at all
events, that I am afraid."
"For me? But I have this." She tapped the barrel of her gun as she
took it from him. "And afterwards--if that is in your mind--
afterwards I shall still have Stephanu."
She said it lightly, but it brought all the blood back to his brow
and cheek with a rush. Not for many days did I learn the full
meaning of the look he turned on her, but for dumb reproach I never
saw the like of it on man's face.
Her foot tapped the ground. "Give him the gun," she commanded; and
Marc'antonio thrust it into my hands. "Now turn your back and walk
to that first tree yonder, very slowly, pace by pace, as you hear me
count."
Her face was set like a flint, her tone relentless. Marc'antonio
half raised his two fists, clenching them for a moment, but dropped
them by his side, turned his back, and began to walk obediently
towards the tree.
"One--two--three--four--five," she counted, and paused. "Englishman,
this fellow has killed your friend, and you claim yourself worthy to
be King of Corsica.
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