Silvestro saw, would rest content with that. The interrogatories began,
a dropping fire of them.

"How did you do it?"

"With my knife, of course."

"Where did you strike?"

"Under the ribs. I took him by his great goat's beard, the old dog, and
jerked up his head--so. Then I drove in between his ribs--ping!"

Surely that would do? Not at all.

"The left ribs?"

"Ah!"

"Did he gurgle?"

"Didn't he!"

"Blood choked him--eh?"

"Per Bacco!"

"You stabbed him on the stair?"

"Gia!"

"Did he roll down?"

"No, no; he just lay where he fell."

"Why did you kill him?" said Castracane, suddenly--bolt upright.

This was awkward. Silvestro fenced. "Eh, corpo di Bacco, why does one
kill the Jews?"

The others at first took the same side. Why, indeed? The question seemed
absurd. Did they not crucify young children, and eat them afterwards?
Did they not kill Gesu Cristo? Everybody knows that they did; and, as
for proof, look at them with a dish of pork. Ugh!

But Castracane blinked his small eyes, and held to it.

"Did you kill him because of Gesu Cristo?" he asked.

Silvestro shrugged. "It was partly that, of course."

"What else?"

Silvestro grew hot--desperate. Why, after all, would one kill a Jew?
Something must be urged, something solid.

"There was Annina, you know," said Silvestro, at his wit's end.

"Annina--that girl you were with? What of her?" Castracane licked his
lips.

"Well, this Jew, you must understand, was a limber young fellow--"

"Young!" shouted the other. "You told me he had a great grey beard like
a goat."

"It wasn't very grey--not so grey as a goat's. Well, he was always
following Annina about, making her presents, cadging for favours.
Accidente! I couldn't stand it, you must know. So, thinking of Annina,
and of Gesu Cristo, and one thing and another, I decided to follow him
back to the Via Gatta--and so I did."

Andrea leaned forward, hoarsely whispering (blessed diversion!)--

"Say, Silvestro, what colour was the Jew's blood?"

Silvestro opened wide those blue eyes, which had wrought such havoc
among the Paduan nobility.

"Black, Andrea!" he whispered again; "black as pig's blood!"

Andrea crossed himself. "Pio Cristo," he prayed, "let me kill a Jew some
day!"

Even then Castracane, the sceptic, was not satisfied. "All I know is,"
said he, "that I saw a Jew cutting bread at the _Albero Verde_ last
Martinmas, and he slipped into his own thumb, and came off as