t
made his heart swell with pride, and infused fresh vigour into his
muscles. Instinctively, he grasped his walking stick, and repeated the
famous pass which pierced the arm of the Marquis de Gauvaudan the
previous winter.

'Yes,' he said, 'it was a direct return hit after a parry of "contre de
tierce."'

'On the floor, Giannetto Rutolo is a skilful swordsman, but in the open
he gets confused. He has only been out once before with my cousin
Cassibile, and he came off badly. He does far too much of the one,
two,--one, two, three business in attacking. Stop thrusts and hits with
a _half volte_ would be useful to you. It was just in that way that my
cousin touched him in the second round. And those thrusts are your
special _forte_. Keep a sharp look-out and try to keep your distance.
And do not forget that you have to do with a man whom, as I hear, you
have robbed of his mistress, and to whom you lifted your whip.'

They had reached the Piazza di Spagna. The Barcaccia splashed and
gurgled softly, glistening under the moon that was mirrored in its
waters. Four or five hackney carriages stood in a line with their lamps
lighted. From the Via del Babuino came a tinkle of bells, and the dull
tramp of hoofs, as of a herd in motion.

At the foot of the steps the Baron took leave of him.

'Good-bye then, till to-morrow. I shall be with you a little before nine
with Ludovico. You must make a pass or so, just to unstiffen the
muscles. We will see about the doctor. Off with you now and get a good
sleep.'

Andrea mounted the steps. At the first broad landing, he stood still to
listen to the tinkle of the approaching bells. In truth, he did feel
rather tired, and even a little heartsick. Now that the excitement
called up by the conversation on fencing, and the recollection of his
former doughty deeds in that line had subsided, a sense of
dissatisfaction had come upon him, confusedly, as yet, and mingled with
doubt and regret. After being on the stretch throughout the violent
feverish incidents of the day, his nerves relaxed under the balmy
influences of the spring night. Why should he, without any excuse of
passion, out of mere caprice, from pure vanity and arrogance, have taken
pleasure in awakening the hatred, and deeply wounding the heart of a
fellow man? The thought of the horrid pain that must be torturing his
adversary filled him with a sort of compassion. Elena's image flashed
before him, and he called to mind the anguis