ered Giovanni. "It is very kind of you to undertake the matter--I am
very grateful."

"I would not leave it to anybody else," muttered the old Prince, as he
hurried away to meet Del Fence's seconds.

Giovanni entered his own rooms, and went straight to his writing-table.
He took a pen and a sheet of paper and began writing. His face was very
grave, but his hand was steady. For more than an hour he wrote without
pausing. Then his father entered the room.

"Well?" said Giovanni, looking up.

"It is all settled," said the old gentleman, seriously. "I was afraid
they might make some objection to me as a second. You know there is an
old clause about near relations acting in such cases. But they declared
that they considered my co-operation an honour--so that is all right.
You must do your best, my boy. This rascal means to hurt you if he can.
Seven o'clock is the time. We must leave here at half-past six. You can
sleep two hours and a half. I will sit up and call you. Spicca has gone
home to change his clothes, and is coming back immediately. Now lie down.
I will see to your foils--"

"Is it foils, then?" asked Giovanni, quietly.

"Yes. They made no objection. You had better lie down."

"I will. Father, if anything should happen to me--it may, you know--you
will find my keys in this drawer, and this letter, which I beg you will
read. It is to yourself."

"Nonsense, my dear boy! Nothing will happen to you--you will just run him
through the arm and come home to breakfast."

The old Prince spoke in his rough cheerful way; but his voice trembled,
and he turned aside to hide two great tears that had fallen upon his dark
cheeks and were losing themselves in his white beard.

CHAPTER XII.

Giovanni slept soundly for two hours. He was very tired with the many
emotions of the night, and the arrangements for the meeting being
completed, it seemed as though work were over and the pressure removed.
It is said that men will sleep for hours when the trial is over and the
sentence of death has been passed; and though it was more likely that Del
Ferice would be killed than that Giovanni would be hurt, the latter felt
not unlike a man who has been tried for his life. He had suffered in a
couple of hours almost every emotion of which he was capable--his love
for Corona, long controlled and choked down, had broken bounds at last,
and found expression for itself; he had in a moment suffered the severest
humiliation and the