everal stop thrusts.

'In capital form!' the Baron congratulated him.

Sperelli then took two cups of tea and some biscuits, donned a very easy
pair of trousers, comfortable shoes with low heels and a very slightly
starched shirt; he prepared his gloves by moistening the palm slightly
and rubbing in powdered resin; arranged a leather strap for fastening
the guard to his wrist; examined the blade and the point of both
rapiers; omitted no precaution, no detail.

When all was to his satisfaction--'Let us be going now,' he said;
'better be on the ground before the others. What about the doctor?'

'He will be waiting for us there.'

On the way down stairs they met Grimiti, who had come on behalf of the
Marchesa d'Ateleta.

'I shall follow you to the Villa and then bring the news as quickly as
possible to Francesca,' said he.

They all went down together. The Duke jumped into his buggy and the
others entered a closed carriage. Andrea made no show of indifference or
good spirits--to make jokes before engaging in a serious duel seemed to
him execrably bad taste--but he was perfectly calm. He smoked and
listened composedly to Santa Margherita and Barbarisi, who were
discussing--apropos of a recent case in France--whether it was
legitimate or not to use the left hand against an adversary. Now and
again, he leaned forward to look out of the window.

On this May morning Rome shone resplendent under the caressing sun. Here
a fountain lit up with its silvery laughter a little piazzetta still
plunged in shadow; there the open gates of a palace disclosed a vista of
courtyard with a background of portico and statues; from the baroque
architecture of a brick church hung the decorations for the month of
Mary. Under the bridge, the Tiber gleamed and glistened as it hurried
away between the gray-green houses towards the island of San Bartolomeo.
After a short ascent, the whole city spread out before them, immense,
imperial, radiant, bristling with spires and columns and obelisks,
crowned with cupolas and rotundas, clean cut out of the blue like a
citadel.

'_Ave Roma, moriturus te salutat!_' exclaimed Andrea Sperelli, throwing
away the end of his cigarette. 'Though, to tell the truth, my dear
fellows.' he added, 'a sword-thrust would decidedly inconvenience me
this morning.'

They had reached the Villa Sciarra, already partially profaned by the
builders of modern houses, and were passing through an avenue of tall
and slender la