"'Attilio Manfredi,' resumed the tall Austrian, raising his voice with a hiccup at times, 'scholar of the Academy of Pistoja, son of Adrian Manfredi, sculptor, and member of the Academia delle Belle Arti, you have been accused and fully convicted of attempting, by bribery, to induce Corporal Carl Schwartz and Private Demetrius Spitzbübbel, with other soldiers of Veltmarshal Radetzki's Croatian Regiment, to desert the fatherly and benign service of his Imperial Majesty Ferdinand I., Emperor of Austria, King of Hungary, Bohemia, Lombardy, and Venice, Dalmatia, Crotia, Sclavonia, Galicia, Lodomeria, and Illyria----'" "Dash my wig!" exclaimed Captain Phillips; "why did he omit the Cannibal Islands, and the Viceroy Whanky-fum?" "Count Rudolf paused to draw breath, as well he might after such a mouthful of words; and again the fine large eyes of the boy dilated with wonder, at a list of names that sounded so strange and barbarous to his Tuscan ear. "'Have you the courage to hear your sentence?' "'Si, signore; the blessed Madonna, who is alike the mother of my mother and me, support me!' "'She does, my son!' cried Marraccini, with enthusiasm. "'Silence!' exclaimed the count. 'Prisoner--you are to be shot to death by a platoon of twelve men.' "He deliberately folded the despatch and drew back. "'The mother of God receive me!' murmured the poor boy; then he added, in a feeble voice, 'Father Marraccini, when it is all over--when I am dead--cut off three locks of my hair: one for my dear father, one for dear, dear mother, and one for my little brother Adrian.' "Here Manfredi drew a locket from his breast and kissed it. "'You will keep my crucifix for yourself, in memory of your little penitent, and say masses for his soul.' "It was now the old priest's turn to weep, and he wept aloud, while the brave little Attilio had not a tear in his eye. "Hoarse, and harsh, and rapid were the German words of command, and in less than three minutes, a volley of twelve rifles that rang like thunder on the still midnight, waking all the echoes of the fortress and of the silent streets of Pistoja, announced that all was over--that the great crime had been committed! "In five minutes more Attilio was flung into a hasty grave dug in the ditch beneath the castle wall, quicklime was cast over him, and there, uncoffined and unconsecrated, the Croats covered him up. "My poor little brother! "My father and mother could not survive the shock of this atrocity. They both died soon after; I was left alone in the world, and, turning my back upon Pistoja, became a sailor and a wanderer.