her, for on the crest of a small adjacent hill which cut off the
view toward Palestrina, he saw a traveller on horseback, stopping a
moment, as if uncertain of his road, and thus presenting against
the blue sky that perfect outline which is peculiar to distant
objects in southern climes. When he saw Luigi, he put his horse
into a gallop and advanced toward him. Luigi was not mistaken. The
traveller, who was going from Palestrina to Tivoli, had mistaken
his way; the young man directed him; but as at a distance of a
quarter of a mile the road again divided into three ways, and on
reaching these the traveller might again stray from his route, he
begged Luigi to be his guide. Luigi threw his cloak on the ground,
placed his carbine on his shoulder, and freed from his heavy
covering, preceded the traveller with the rapid step of a
mountaineer, which a horse can scarcely keep up with. In ten
minutes Luigi and the traveller reached the cross-roads. On
arriving there, with an air as majestic as that of an emperor, he
stretched his hand towards that one of the roads which the
traveller was to follow. — "That is your road, excellency, and now
you cannot again mistake.' — `And here is your recompense,' said
the traveller, offering the young herdsman some small pieces of
money.
"`Thank you,' said Luigi, drawing back his hand; `I render a
service, I do not sell it.' — `Well,' replied the traveller, who
seemed used to this difference between the servility of a man of
the cities and the pride of the mountaineer, `if you refuse wages,
you will, perhaps, accept a gift.' — `Ah, yes, that is another
thing.' — `Then,' said the traveller, `take these two Venetian
sequins and give them to your bride, to make herself a pair of
earrings.'
"`And then do you take this poniard,' said the young herdsman;
`you will not find one better carved between Albano and
Civita-Castellana.'
"`I accept it,' answered the traveller, `but then the obligation
will be on my side, for this poniard is worth more than twowill be on my side, for this poniard is worth more than two
sequins.' — `For a dealer perhaps; but for me, who engraved it
myself, it is hardly worth a piastre.'
"`What is your name?' inquired the traveller. — `Luigi Vampa,'
replied the shepherd, with the same air as he would have replied,
Alexander, King of Macedon. — `And yours?' — `I,' said the
traveller, `am called Sinbad the Sailor.'" Franz d'Epinay started
with surprise.
"Sinbad the Sailor." he said.
"Yes," replied the narrator; "that was the name which the
traveller gave to Vampa as his own."
"Well, and what may you have to say against this name?" inquired
Albert; "it is a very pretty name, and the adventures of the
gentleman of that name amused me very much in my youth, I must
confess." — Franz said no more. The name of Sinbad the Sailor, as
may well be supposed, awakened in him a world of recollections, as
had the name of the Count of Monte Cristo on the previous
evening.
"Proceed!" said he to the host.
"Vampa put the two sequins haughtily into his pocket, and slowly
returned by the way he had gone. As he came within two or three
hundred paces of the grotto, he thought he heard a cry. He listened
to know whence this sound could proceed. A moment afterwards he
thought he heard his own name pronounced distinctly. The cry
proceeded from the grotto. He bounded like a chamois, cocking his
carbine as he went, and in a moment reached the summit of a hill
opposite to that on which he had perceived the traveller. Three
cries for help came more distinctly to his ear. He cast his eyes
around him and saw a man carrying off Teresa, as Nessus, the
centaur, carried Dejanira. This man, who was hastening towards the
wood, was already three-quarters of the way on the road from the
grotto to the forest. Vampa measured the distance; the man was at
least two hundred paces in advance of him, and there was not a
chance of overtaking him. The young shepherd stopped, as if his
feet had been rooted to the ground; then he put the butt of hisfeet had been rooted to the ground; then he put the butt of his
carbine to his shoulder, took aim at the ravisher, followed him for
a second in his track, and then fired. The ravisher stopped
suddenly, his knees bent under him, and he fell with Teresa in his
arms. The young girl rose instantly, but the man lay on the earth
struggling in the agonies of death. Vampa then rushed towards
Teresa; for at ten paces from the dying man her legs had failed
her, and she had dropped on her knees, so that the young man feared
that the ball that had brought down his enemy, had also wounded his
betrothed. Fortunately, she was unscathed, and it was fright alone
that had overcome Teresa. When Luigi had assured himself that she
was safe and unharmed, he turned towards the wounded man. He had
just expired, with clinched hands, his mouth in a spasm of agony,
and his hair on end in the sweat of death. His eyes remained open
and menacing. Vampa approached the corpse, and recognized
Cucumetto. From the day on which the bandit had been saved by the
two young peasants, he had been enamoured of Teresa, and had sworn
she should be his. From that time he had watched them, and
profiting by the moment when her lover had left her alone, had
carried her off, and believed he at length had her in his power,
when the ball, directed by the unerring skill of the young
herdsman, had pierced his heart. Vampa gazed on him for a moment
without betraying the slightest emotion; while, on the contrary,
Teresa, shuddering in every limb, dared not approach the slain
ruffian but by degrees, and threw a hesitating glance at the dead
body over the shoulder of her lover. Suddenly Vampa turned toward
his mistress: — `Ah,' said he — `good, good! You are dressed; it is
now my turn to dress myself.'
"Teresa was clothed from head to foot in the garb of the Count
of San-Felice's daughter. Vampa took Cucumetto's body in his arms
and conveyed it to the grotto, while in her turn Teresa remained
outside. If a second traveller had passed, he would have seen a