rgotten though lack of exercise may make us
slow.

He cut at me again, and narrowly missed the lamp in his stroke. And now,
I can most solemnly make oath that in the thing that followed there was
no intent. It was over and done before I was conscious of the happening.
I had acted purely upon instinct as men will in performing what they
have been taught.

To ward his blow, I came almost unconsciously into that guard of
Marozzo's which is known as the iron girdle. I parried and on the stroke
I lunged, and so, taking the poor wretch entirely unawares, I sank the
half of my iron into his vitals ere he or I had any thought that the
thing was possible.

I saw his little eyes grow very wide, and the whole expression of his
face become one of intense astonishment.

He moved his lips as if to speak, and then the sword clattered from his
one hand, the lanthorn from his other; he sank forward quietly, still
looking at me with the same surprised glance, and so came further on to
my rigidly held blade, until his breast brought up against the quillons.
For a moment he remained supported thus, by just that rigid arm of mine
and the table against which his weight was leaning. Then I withdrew the
blade, and in the same movement flung the weapon from me. Before the
sword had rattled to the floor, his body had sunk down into a heap
beyond the table, so that I could see no more than the yellow, egg-like
top of his bald head.

Awhile I stood watching it, filled with an extraordinary curiosity and
a queer awe. Very slowly was it that I began to realize the thing I had
done. It might be that I had killed Fifanti. It might be. And slowly,
gradually I grew cold with the thought and the apprehension of its
horrid meaning.

Then from the passage came a stifled scream, and Giuliana staggered
forward, one hand holding flimsy draperies to her heaving bosom, the
other at her mouth, which had grown hideously loose and uncontrolled.
Her glowing copper hair, all unbound, fell about her shoulders like a
mantle.

Behind her with ashen face and trembling limbs came old Busio. He
was groaning and ringing his hands. Thus I saw the pair of them creep
forward to approach Fifanti, who had made no sound since my sword had
gone through him.

But Fifanti was no longer there to heed them--the faithful servant and
the unfaithful wife. All that remained, huddled there at the foot of the
table, was a heap of bleeding flesh and shabby garments.

It was Giu