It was a moment of intense horror and excitement.

An anxious curiosity, largely mixed with dread, oppressed the hearts of the spectators, who stood motionless, breathless, with pale faces, and straining eyes fixed upon the tragic group on the fatal scaffold.

Suddenly a strange stir ran through the crowd--the child, who was perched up on the cross, had slipped quickly down to the ground, and gliding like a serpent through the closely packed throng, reached the scaffold, cleared the steps at a bound, and appeared beside the astonished executioner, who was just in the act of raising the ponderous bar to strike, with such a wild, ghastly, yet inspired and noble countenance--lighted up by a strength of will and purpose that made it actually sublime--that the grim dealer of death paused involuntarily, and withheld the murderous blow about to fall.
"Get out of my way, thou puppet!" he roared in angry tones, as he recovered his sang-froid, "or thou wilt get thy accursed head smashed." But Chiquita paid no attention to him--she did not care whether she was killed too, or not.

Bending over Agostino, she passionately kissed his forehead, whispered "I love thee!"-- and then, with a blow as swift as lightning, plunged into his heart the knife she had reclaimed from Isabelle.

It was dealt with so firm a hand, and unerring an aim, that death was almost instantaneous--scarcely had Agostino time to murmur "Thanks." With a wild burst of hysterical laughter the child sprang down from the scaffold, while the executioner, stupefied at her bold deed, lowered his now useless club; uncertain whether or not he should proceed to break the bones of the man already dead, and beyond his power to torture.
"Well done, Chiquita, well done, and bravely!" cried Malartic--who had recognised her in spite of her boy's clothes--losing his self-restraint in his admiration.