Cinthia returned; the four bravoes followed her, yawning, grumbling,
and still half asleep.
"Come, come!" said Abellino, "rouse yourselves, lads. Before I say
anything, be convinced that you are wide awake, for what I am going
to tell you is so strange that you would scarce believe it in a
dream."
They listened to him with an air of indifference and impatience.
"Why, what's the matter now?" said Thomaso, while he stretched
himself.
"Neither more nor less than that our honest, hearty, brave Matteo is
murdered."
"What, murdered!" every one exclaimed, and gazed with looks of
terror on the bearer of this unwelcome news; while Cinthia gave a
loud scream, and, clasping her hands together, sank almost
breathless into a chair.
A general silence prevailed for some time.
"Murdered"' at length repeated Thomaso, "and by whom?"
Baluzzo.--Where?
Pietrino.--What? this forenoon?
Abellino.--In the gardens of Dolabella, where he was found bleeding
at the feet of the Doge's niece. Whether he fell by her hand, or by
that of one of her admirers, I cannot say.
Cinthia (weeping).--Poor dear Matteo.
Abellino.--About this time to-morrow you will see his corpse
exhibited on the gibbet.
Pietrino.--What! Did any one recognise him?
Abellino.--Yes, yes! there's no doubt about his trade, you may
depend on't.
Cinthia.--The gibbet! Poor dear Matteo!
Thomaso.--This is a fine piece of work.
Baluzzo.--Confound the fellow, who would have thought of anything
happening so unlucky?
Abellino.--Why, how now? You seem to be overcome.
Struzza.--I cannot recover myself; surprise and terror have almost
stupefied me.
Abellino.--Indeed! By my life, when I heard the news I burst into
laughter. "Signor Matteo," said I, "I wish your worship joy of your
safe arrival."
Thomaso.--What?
Struzza.--You laughed? Hang me if I can see what there is to laugh
at.
Abellino.--Why, surely you are not afraid of receiving what you are
so ready to bestow on others? What is your object? What can we
expect as our reward at the end of our labours except the gibbet or
the rock? What memorials of our actions shall we leave behind us,
except our skeletons dancing in the air, and the chains which rattle
round them? He who chooses to play the bravo's part on the great
theatre of the world must not be afraid of death, whether it comes
at the hands of the physician or the executioner. Come, come, pluck
up your spirits, comrades.
Thomaso.--That's easy to say, but quite out of my power.