therefore not press my acquaintance upon you so
far as to take your life. But I shall tell you plainly, sir, that I am a
fencing-master by my profession, and if you do not immediately dissolve
into air, or, to put it better, melt away with all your company, I will
lard you, in the space of thirty seconds, with fifteen flesh wounds in
fifteen different parts of your body, not one of which shall be
dangerous, but which, being taken in what I may call the aggregate,
shall keep you in your bed for a month, sir. And moreover, sir, as you
do not seem inclined to lower your guard and go away, there is one!'

The long rapier flashed in the light of the lantern, and instantly Don
Alberto's sword fell from his hand. Trombin had run him neatly through
the right forearm, completely disabling him at the first thrust.

The Bravo at once stooped, picked up the weapon and politely offered him
the hilt, but he could not take it with his right hand, and grasping the
blade itself with his left, he just managed to get it into the sheath.

'At least,' he cried, furious with humiliation and pain, 'that gentleman
with the lantern there, who employs you, will answer to me for this in
broad daylight, when my wound is healed.'

'With pleasure, sir,' answered the voice of Gambardella. 'But as one
gentleman to another, I warn you that I am also a fencing-master.'

The instant Don Alberto was wounded his musicians had taken to flight,
and he had now no choice but to follow them, which he did with as much
dignity as he could command, considering that he was hatless, wounded,
and altogether very badly worsted, for he had understood that he had
fallen in with Bravi, probably employed by a rival. As soon as it was
evident that he was going away, the lantern was shut and the street was
dark again, Trombin's musicians tuned their instruments, and in two or
three minutes the triumphal march rang out again, louder and higher than
ever.

In the dimness above Stradella and Ortensia looked at each other, though
they could hardly see one another's faces.

'Your two admirers mean business!' said the musician with some
amusement. 'Trombin will seem less ridiculous the next time you see him
staring at you!'

'How can you laugh!' asked Ortensia gravely, for she had never before
seen men face each other with drawn swords.

She had always been taught that duelling was as wicked as it was
dangerous, and her uncle Pignaver had shared that orthodox opinion;