not come. With
terrific anger, she whirled to her basket and reached for her whip.

"Dogs!" she cried. "Have you so soon forgot your lesson?"

And then she realized that the twenty blind men were closing in on her.
They were silent, but their outstretched hands were feeling for
something that they wanted very much. Even when her whip started to cut,
they were silent. Then one man touched her. To her credit, there was no
sign of fear. She knew what had happened. She must have known, but she
was not afraid. Her single scream was nothing but the battle-cry of the
tiger cat going into action.

There was a single cry, and that was all. The men reached for what they
wanted in silence. For a while they were all in a struggling group on
their feet, but soon they were all on the ground. It was simply a mass,
and under that mass was a biting, scratching, fighting, dying animal.

I couldn't stand it. I had planned it all, I wanted it all to happen,
but when it came, I just couldn't stand it. Covered with the sweat of
fear, I ran to the door and unlocked it. I swung it open, went through
the doorway, closed it and locked it again. The men, waiting for me in
the cellar, looked on with doubt. It seemed that they were right in
thinking that my tale was an alcoholic one.

"Give me whisky!" I gasped, as I dropped on the floor.

In a few minutes I had recovered.

"Open the door," I ordered. "And bring the blind men out."

One at a time they were brought to the kitchen, and identified. Some
were terribly mutilated in the face, long deep scratches, and even
pieces bitten out, and one had the corner of his mouth torn. Most of
them were sobbing hysterically, but, in some way, though none said so, I
judged that they were all happy.

We went back to the cellar and through the door. On the stone floor was
a clotted mass of red and white.

"What's that?" asked the American consul.

"I think that is the Donna Marchesi," I replied. "She must have met with
an accident."

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