At length, as the light began to fall and the men became more agitated, the cloak-wearer (apparently their leader) seemed to prevail, and took a large dagger from one of his dejected underlings. As they drew back, seeming rather glad to put distance between themselves and the altar, the leader tentatively approached. As he stood beside the slab and its lovely, recumbent occupant, he spoke a few rapid words, like a prayer or incantation, then raised the dagger over his head in both hands, poised for a powerful downward strike into the lady’s heart… whereupon there was a loud, explosive discharge that scattered the birds, sent the other two gypsies running off in a panic, and left a gaping, smouldering hole in the leader’s chest. The dagger fell from his lifeless hands, and he collapsed face downwards upon his intended victim.
Our Beloved Tyrants Scene 6
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