tion I will keep the one I have," said he to his
father. The foils were measured, and were found to be alike. The two
gentlemen retired, and Del Ferice chose a weapon.

"That is right," said Spicca, as he slowly went back to his place. "You
should never part with an old friend."

"We are ready!" was called from the opposite side.

"In guard, then!" cried the Prince. The angry flush had not subsided from
Giovanni's forehead, as he again went forward. Del Ferice came up like a
man who has suddenly made up his mind to meet death, with a look of
extraordinary determination on his pale face.

Before they had made half-a-dozen passes Ugo slipped, or pretended to
slip, and fell upon his right knee; but as he came to the ground, he made
a sharp thrust upwards under Giovanni's extended left arm.

The old Prince uttered a fearful oath, that rang and echoed along the
walls of the ancient villa. Del Ferice had executed the celebrated feint
known long ago as the "Colpo del Tancredi," "Tancred's lunge," from the
supposed name of its inventor. It is now no longer permitted in duelling.
But the deadly thrust loses half its danger against a left-handed man.
The foil grazed the flesh on Giovanni's left side, and the blood again
stained his white shirt. In the moment when Del Ferice slipped, Giovanni
had made a straight and deadly lunge at his body, and the sword, instead
of passing through Ugo's lungs, ran swift and sure through his throat,
with such force that the iron guard struck the falling man's jaw with
tremendous impetus, before the oath the old Prince had uttered was fairly
out of his mouth.

Seconds and witnesses and surgeons sprang forward hastily. Del Ferice lay
upon his side; he had fallen so heavily and suddenly as to wrench the
sword from Giovanni's grip. The old Prince gave one look, and dragged
his son away.

"He is as dead as a stone," he muttered, with a savage gleam in his eyes.

Giovanni hastily began to dress, without paying any attention to the
fresh wound he had received in the last encounter. In the general
excitement, his surgeon had joined the group about the fallen man. Before
Giovanni had got his overcoat on he came back with Spicca, who looked
crestfallen and disappointed.

"He is not dead at all," said the surgeon. "You did the thing with a
master's hand--you ran his throat through without touching the jugular
artery or the spine."

"Does he want to go on?" asked Giovanni, so savagely that the thr