step forward with a menace
of straight thrust, accompanying it with a cry after the manner of
certain Sicilian fencers. The duel began.

Sperelli avoided any decisive movement, restricting himself to parrying
only, forcing his opponent to discover his intentions, to exhaust all
his methods, to bring out his whole repertoire of sword-play. His
parries were neat and rapid, never yielding a foot of ground, admirable
in precision, as if he were taking part in a fencing match in the school
with blunt foils; whereas Rutolo attacked him warmly, accompanying each
thrust with a hoarse cry like that of the wood-cutters when they use
their hatchets.

'Halt!' cried Santa Margherita, whose vigilant eye marked every flash of
the blades.

He went up to Rutolo, 'You are touched, if I am not mistaken,' he said.

True, Rutolo had a scratch on the forearm, but so slight that there was
no need even of sticking-plaster. Nevertheless, he was breathing hard,
and his livid pallor bore witness to his suppressed anger.

'I know my man thoroughly now,' whispered Sperelli with a smile to
Barbarisi. 'You watch the second round. I mean to pink him on the right
breast.'

As he spoke, he absently rested the point of his rapier on the ground.
The bald young surgeon with the strong jaw immediately came up to him
with a sponge soaked in carbolic acid and proceeded to purify the weapon
again.

'Good heavens!' Andrea exclaimed in a low voice to Barbarisi, 'he has
all the air of a _jettatore_. This rapier is certain to break.'

A thrush began to sing somewhere in the trees. Here and there a rose
scattered its petals on the breeze. Some low-lying fleecy clouds rose to
meet the sun, broke up into airy flakes and gradually dispersed.

'On guard!'

Conscious of his inferiority, Rutolo determined to hamper his opponent's
play, to attack him at close quarters and so break his continuity of
action. For this he enjoyed the advantage of shorter stature and a frame
which, being wiry, thin and flexible, offered but little mark to the
other's weapon.

Andrea foresaw that Rutolo would adopt this plan. He stood on guard,
bent like a taut bow, watching for the right moment.

'Halt!' cried Santa Margherita.

A streak of blood showed on Rutolo's breast. The rapier had penetrated,
just under the right breast, almost to the rib. The surgeons hurried
over, but the wounded man instantly turned to Casteldieri, and with a
tremor of anger in his voice said roughly