"'And nine is one And ten is none That is the witches' one times one.' "I have commenced an album of witches' poetry, these verses taken from it also apply to criticism." "I protest against any such remarks," cried Spiegeler, in whom the effects of deep potations became more apparent; "besides which I can praise and blame what I choose and as I will--criticism is absolute. Signora Giulia dazzled me at first--I do not deny it; I deemed her art to be an apple of Paradise; now I recognise it as one of Sodom, which crumbles to ashes in my hand, and that which I have recognised I must express. Criticism does not lie; whoever says it does, I declare to be a liar." Blanden had risen, indignant at the man's daring behaviour and the daring calumniation of his Giulia; but before he had time seriously and sharply to rebuke the reporter, it had been done very effectually from another quarter. A resounding box on his ears roused the astonishment of the lookers-on, who did not know whence it came so suddenly, and also roused the boundless rage of the victim. "_Bugiardo, bugiardo_, you are a liar yourself," cried a powerful voice, and by Spiegeler's side stood the Italian, drawn up erectly, and with proud gladness in his features at the lynch-law which he had just carried out. Suddenly a solemn silence reigned around. "_Corpo di bacco_," cried the stranger, whose singular appearance inspired the students with respect, "to cut off a singer's fame, curtail her receipts, ruin her credit, is honourable, worthy of a _gentiluomo_! The _giornale_ that hisses forth such venom should be made into spills, and he who boasts of producing it deserves to be chastised by every honest man." Spiegeler had let the one crutch fall, he held his burning cheek while his lips quivered convulsively. Big and little witches stood drawn up in a line with their kitchen spoons, and with quiet enjoyment watched a scene not unusual in that house. "That was rude, sir!" "Laying on of hands is no refutation." "The man is lame and a cripple." Thus spoke the somewhat timid defence of the disciples of the Albertina; but Salomon exclaimed-- "Sir, it is an ambuscade, a species of _brigantaggio_! Intellect is our only stiletto, with which we have been favoured by nature. You appear to be a foreigner, for you curse in the language of the _Inferno_, but we do not tolerate such attempts here, we protest!" "We protest," cried several students, waving their little liqueur glasses. Spiegeler now stood foaming with rage before the _signor_, who with folded arms bid defiance to public opinion. "You shall not escape me, there are judges in Prussia; we are not in the inn at Terracina, my _Signor Fra Diavolo_, and do not permit ourselves to be attacked." And as he let his second crutch fall, and caught his opponent by a coat button, he cried as loudly as his hoarse squeaking voice would permit him-- "Your name, sir--your name!"