The morning of the 16th of March had come, and Milan had a martial appearance. Placards were attached to all the walls, informing the Imperial authorities of the ultimatum of the people of Lombardy; a great throng was gathered around these placards, and the streets were crowded with Austrian troops.

Grenadiers were on guard before the official buildings, but the sentinels were suddenly disarmed, and, without being able to tell how it happened, the palace was occupied by the citizens. The municipal councillors fled in every direction; only the president of the Senate remained firm, and only when the tumult became greater, he, too, went, guarded by an escort, to the Brobetto palace, which was situated in the centre of the city.

In the Via Del Monte the crowd was the greatest, and all passage was soon entirely cut off. Rifle shots were suddenly heard, deafening shouts followed, and there was a terrible confusion. Radetzky had ordered his soldiers to load heavily and to fire into the crowd. A howl of rage followed the first discharge, and numberless wounded fell to the ground. That was no honest combat, but an infamous massacre.

Monte-Cristo stood at one of the lofty arched windows in the Vidiserti palace, and, with a dark frown, observed the terrible massacre which Radetzky's minions created in the streets. Spero stood at his father's side.

"See, papa," he said, with tear-choked utterance, "that wounded woman carrying a dead child. It was shot in her arms. Oh, the poor wretches, what did they do to the soldiers?"

"My child," sadly replied Monte-Cristo, "man's worst enemy is man!"

"Papa!" suddenly exclaimed Spero, "see, there, the flag!"

The count glanced in the direction indicated. A young Italian had just climbed up the tower of a church opposite the Vidiserti palace, and there unfurled the national standard. The tricolor fluttered gayly in the wind. Suddenly, however, the young man was seen to totter; he sought to hold himself, turned a somersault and fell crushed to the pavement. A bullet had hit him.

At this moment Bertuccio entered the hall.

"Well?" asked the count.

"Count, one of our emissaries has penetrated to the citadel. The Marquis Aslitta is no longer there!"

"What can that mean? Had he escaped he would have looked for us here," exclaimed the count uneasily.

"The man could learn nothing further," said Bertuccio, sadly; "but he was informed that some one else was found in the marquis's cell."

"Some one else? Who?"

"You know him. In Paris he called himself Major Cavalcanti, and here—"

"What about this substitute?" eagerly interrupted the count.

"He was sentenced to death; whether the sentence had been already executed our emissary could not ascertain."

"Bertuccio," said the count anxiously, "if Aslitta—"

"Aslitta is dead!" cried Luciola, who had entered unperceived and sank to her knees sobbing.

"Who dares to allege that?" exclaimed the count, turning pale.

"Step to the window," stammered Luciola.

The count did so and staggered back, for the sight he saw confirmed the poor girl's words; four men, with uncovered heads, carried a bier on which lay a motionless body. It was the Marquis Aslitta, and Monte-Cristo's heart swelled as he recognized him.

"How could this calamity have happened?" whispered Spero, clinging anxiously to Luciola.

Bertuccio, in the meantime, had run down into the street to direct the carriers. He now returned and tremblingly said:

"A quarter of an hour ago our men found the body in the moat of the fortifications; how Aslitta got there is a riddle."

Loud cries were heard from the street.

"Revenge on the murderers! Death to the miserable cowards."

A crowd numbered by hundreds gathered around the bier, and the carriers had trouble to reach the palace gate.

Luciola had dragged herself with difficulty to the staircase, but there she swooned away, and while Spero bedewed her beautiful pale face with his tears, he appealingly whispered to his father:

"Papa, you have already aided so many people, aid her too!"

Monte-Cristo started. He had promised Luciola to save Aslitta, and now—

The next moment he was standing beside the bier; his gaze rested searchingly, with unspeakable terror, on the pale features of the drowned man, and with trembling hands he bared the bosom and placed his ear to Aslitta's breast.

At this instant the beating of drums was heard and a Croatian battalion turned the corner of the street.

"Men," exclaimed Monte-Cristo, "carry the Marquis Aslitta into the Vidiserti palace, and if you love your leader, who has staked his life for you, see to it that no soldier enters the building! Turn the palace into a bulwark against which the soldiers smash their skulls, and who knows whether Italy and Aslitta may not, together, become resurrected?"

Luciola had heard the prophetic words; she rose up, and, approaching the bier, exclaimed enthusiastically:

"You hear his words; he always keeps what he promises. To arms, friends! Long live Italy and Liberty."

A shout of joy answered Luciola. The next instant the street was blocked by turned wagons, logs and other obstacles, the pavement was torn up, and as the Croatians approached they found a raging multitude ready for defence. At a first-story window of the Palace Vidiserti Luciola stood and encouraged the patriots. She had seized a flag, and, unmindful of the bullets which whistled around her, waved the tricolor in the air.

The spark had dropped into the powder barrel; from all sides the patriots rallied around the national standard, and, amid the ringing of the alarm bells, the insurrection kept growing in dimensions.

Luciola had long ago left her place at the window and stood on a barricade, waving her flag and spurring on the combatants. The Croatians retreated after about an hour. Surrounded on all sides by the Italians, they sought safety in flight, and the patriots followed them with shouts of joy.

Luciola now left the barricade, and, hastening into the palace, sank on her knees beside the bier, on which Aslitta still lay extended motionless. She raised her clasped hands to Monte-Cristo, who was busying himself about the lifeless man, and imploringly exclaimed:

"Count, I have kept my word—the tricolor waves in freedom in Milan; restore Giorgio to me."

The count did not reply; he held in his hand a small vial containing a dark-red liquid, and slowly he dropped single drops on Aslitta's compressed lips.

At this instant Sante-Croce rushed into the apartment and excitedly exclaimed:

"Things are bad, count. Radetzky has retreated with his troops into the citadel and begins to bombard the city! You have promised to assist us with act and counsel, and, instead of redeeming your word, you are wasting the time in useless revivification experiments. Let the dead alone and take care of the living."

Monte-Cristo's flashing eyes fixed themselves on the old patriot, and with ringing tones he retorted:

"Marquis, I have as yet always kept my word."

"But when? It may soon be too late. We are lacking in arms and ammunition, and the superiority of numbers will crush us if we are defenceless."

"Ali," ordered the count.

The Nubian appeared and glanced inquiringly at his master.

"You have the key of the vault which contains the arms and ammunition?"

Ali nodded.

"Go and show the Marquis of Sante-Croce the way to the vaults. Arm the patriots, marquis, and believe my words, before night Radetzky will give up the fight and to-morrow will leave Milan. Stop, one instant yet; I told the patriots that the Marquis Aslitta would lead them. I have kept my word. See for yourself. Aslitta opens his eyes; he lives."

The dark eyelids really opened, and with a dreamy look Aslitta surveyed the people who surrounded him.

"Thanks be to God, he lives!" exclaimed Luciola, gleefully.

"Calm yourself, Eugenie," said the Count. "Aslitta must be spared for the present any excitement! Leave him to me, he will soon recover."

"Oh, you have performed a miracle," said Luciola, enthusiastically.

Monte-Cristo bowed his head and a tear glistened in his eye.

It was in memory of his friend and teacher, the Abbe Faria.

Sante-Croce looked wonderingly at the count.

"You are a god!" he exclaimed; "forgive the words I spoke before."

"I have nothing to forgive," replied the count, gently; "I have only to keep what I have promised. Spero, come here."

"Here I am, papa," called the boy.

"Good, my son. You know your duty. Accompany the patriots; take my place until Aslitta's condition permits me to relieve you."

A cannon-shot caused the house to shake to its foundations, and Haydee, pale and trembling, entered.

"The bombardment begins," she whispered to her husband. "Oh, the cruelty!"

Monte-Cristo threw his arm about his handsome wife, and giving the boy a wink, he consolingly said:

"Spero will be worthy of you and me. Come, Spero, say good-by and go."

Spero pressed a kiss on Haydee's lips, threw his arms about his father's neck and whispered in his ear:

"I will do my duty."

Turning to the marquis he put his hand in that of the old man and said:

"Let us go!"

A half-hour passed by. Monte-Cristo and Haydee were still busied with Aslitta, when a servant entered bearing a sealed letter on a silver salver.

"A courier who has come from France has just brought it," said the servant, in answer to a question of the count's.

"Did he give his name?"

"Yes; he said his name was Penelon, and that he came from Marseilles."

"From Marseilles!" exclaimed Haydee, anxiously; "oh, quick! see what the letter says."

Monte-Cristo broke the seal. The letter only contained a few words:

"I am dying from grief. Come at once!

"Mercedes."

The count handed the letter to Haydee. The latter read it and then said:

"When do we go?"

"Thanks, Haydee," said the count, tenderly. "We go as soon as my duty here is ended! Give the necessary orders. Let Bertuccio inform Jacopo and rest easy! See, Aslitta has recovered—God will protect Spero!"