"The Teresiani live under the table, no Prussiano has crept there. All the Teresiani would gladly hide as they have often done before."

The Prussiani accompanied these words of their leader with joyous shouts.

The father guardian trembled with rage; he seized a large dish from the table and dashed it at Anselmo, who dodged in time, and then with a powerful arm returned the compliment. It was a well-directed javelin. The tin dish struck the father guardian exactly in the back--he lost his balance, and fell to the earth. The Prussiani greeted this heroic deed of their chief with shouts of triumph. "So shall all the Teresiani perish!"

The battle waxed hotter and fiercer, the air was thick with missiles.

"They will murder each other!" cried the prior, turning to the Baron Cocceji.

"Not so, your worship; there will only be a few blue swellings and bleeding noses--nothing more," said Cocceji, laughing.

"Ah, you laugh young man; you laugh at this sad spectacle!"

"Forgive me, your worship; but I swear to you, I have never seen warriors more eager in the fray, and I have never been more curious to witness the result of any battle."