“Who was it? who did it?” they shouted to her from all sides. “Do you know him? Who has dared to insult you and all of us? You _must_ say who it is!” were the cries uttered in various tones by a hundred angry men and women. “He must marry you, he must, or he shall die! Who was it? who?” “A man in Palene,”answered Lucia in a clear voice. “Palene? he shall die if he won’t do his duty. But what is his name?” “Don Ernano!” “What, he? a foreigner! the light-haired man! the sportsman!” cried several voices. “It’s all the same,” screamed others, “it’s just the same. It would make no difference if he were a townsman—he shall die if he won’t do you justice and restore you to honor; yes, he shall die by our hands,” cried all, old and young, with angry, flashing eyes. “He must give the village satisfaction at once,” cried one who had taken the lead; “I will go to him now. Take your knives, my men, and say who’ll go with me?” “I! I!”cried at least twenty voices and a number of men separated from the rest and started off at a rapid pace along the road to Palene. Lucia now dismounted, led the mule into his stable and retreated to her dismal little room out of her mother’s way. Here she sat down quite exhausted on the only chair it contained, and drew a deep breath. “Now no one can kill him for marrying me, for they will make him,” she said softly to herself, “and he won’t refuse. He likes me, I’m sure of that now, and Pietro Antonio won’t dare to touch him, for he would have the whole village against him.” It was about an hour after all this commotion that the first of the Palenella peasants entered Don Ernano’s wineshop and called for a tumbler of wine. In a few seconds more another came in, and then a third, and before the barber knew where he was, his room was filled with peasants, all of whom carried knives in their gay-colored sashes, and looked very menacing. Don Lugeno, though peaceably disposed, was a brave man enough, but he could not help feeling somewhat aghast on the present occasion, for there was evidently something strange about his visitors. “Don Ernano,” began the spokesman, “you have cut off the plait of one of our girls—eh? is it so?” “Yes!”returned the barber with some embarrassment, but without the slightest suspicion of what was meant, or what the question boded. “Have you the plait?” “Yes, I have.” “Then please to show it to us.” The barber went and fetched it from the cupboard and held it up, saying, “Here it is.” “You know the girl?”they inquired further. “Yes, it is Lucia Ceprano; I have known her a long time.” “Good! Will you marry her?”inquired the leader suddenly stepping up to the barber. “_Marry_—Lucia Ceprano?” exclaimed Don Ernano quite taken a-back. “Will you?” and a dozen large knives flashed into the air, while in an instant the men had closed the entrance into the shop, surrounded the terrified owner and driven him into a corner. “Yes or no?” said they in suppressed tones.