The peasant had also noticed Giovanni and his action, but he did not relax his pace, did not seem inclined to pay even the slightest attention to him. He came tramping on, reached the Viscount and passed him without as much as a nod of the head in salutation. But Massetti with a start recognized him. With a flush of rage on his face and all his blood boiling in his veins, he turned, sprang after the old man and laid his hand upon his shoulder. The peasant abruptly halted, also turned, and a fierce imprecation escaped his lips. He surveyed the irate young Italian from head to foot, sneeringly, scowlingly.
"Why, do you stop me?" he said, roughly. "I do not know you."
"But, Pasquale Solara, I know you!" exclaimed the Viscount. "We have met in good time and in a fit place! The opportunity for which I have long and impatiently waited has at length arrived! You shall feel the crushing weight of my vengeance! You shall answer to me for your despicable, your unnatural crimes! Pasquale Solara, base wretch who sold your own daughter to a fate worse than death, ignoble scoundrel who did not respect the dictates of hospitality, I am Giovanni Massetti!"
As he spoke he leaped in front of the morose shepherd, barring his passage with his body.
"Well, what if you are Giovanni Massetti!" replied old Pasquale, coldly and defiantly. "I care not for you! Stand out of my path and let me pass before I strike you to the earth as I would a mongrel, yelping cur!"
With these words he raised his staff menacingly over the young Italian. The latter with the quickness and agility of a deer sprang at the staff, grasped it and sent it whirling into the chestnut grove. Then he caught old Solara by the throat and a terrible struggle at once began. The two men closed with each other as if in a death-clutch, wrestling like a couple of athletes. Massetti had not yet regained his full vigor, but his rage lent him strength. On his side, Pasquale, though old, had muscles of steel and a grasp like iron. He whirled his adversary round and round, at times almost overturning him, but the Viscount struggled manfully, occasionally wrenching the shepherd from his feet and lifting him bodily in the air. The breath of both came forth in hot, quick, labored gasps, while their faces were red with exertion. For a long while the result was doubtful, the strife continuing fiercely without any decided advantage on either side. Often the Viscount was borne nearly to the ground but he invariably recovered, straightened himself up and vigorously renewed the conflict. Not a word was uttered now. The concentrated energies of the contestants were bent upon the strife, depriving them of the power of speech. Finally by a rapid movement Giovanni succeeded in tripping Solara, who fell with a crash, the young Italian coming down upon his prostrate body with great force and for an instant almost checking his respiration. Both were partially stunned by the fall and lay motionless. Massetti was the first to regain possession of his faculties. He half arose, placed his knees on old Pasquale's breast and, drawing a pistol, cocked it.