However, the struggle still continued, and it was dreadful to witness. The two assistants carried Andrea up to the scaffold; the people all took part against Andrea, and twenty thousand voices cried, “Put him to death! put him to death!”

Franz sprang back, but the count seized his arm, and held him before the window.

“What are you doing?” said he. “Do you pity him? If you heard the cry of ‘Mad dog!’ you would take your gun⁠—you would unhesitatingly shoot the poor beast, who, after all, was only guilty of having been bitten by another dog. And yet you pity a man who, without being bitten by one of his race, has yet murdered his benefactor; and who, now unable to kill anyone, because his hands are bound, wishes to see his companion in captivity perish. No, no⁠—look, look!”

The recommendation was needless. Franz was fascinated by the horrible spectacle.