“Del Ferice!  Who would have thought it?  He is a dead man.  What was it all about?”

“That is unnecessary to say here,” said Giovanni, quietly.  “He insulted me grossly.  I half-strangled him, and told him he was a dog.  I suppose he will fight.”

“Ah yes; he will probably fight,” repeated Spicca, thoughtfully.  “What are your weapons, Don Giovanni?”

“Anything he likes.”

“But the choice is yours if he challenges,” returned the Count.

“As you please.  Arrange all that—­foils, swords, or pistols.”

“You do not seem to take much interest in this affair,” remarked Spicca, sadly.

“He is best with foils,” said the old Prince.

“Foils or pistols, of course,” said the Count.  “Swords are child’s play.”

Satisfied that his seconds meant business, Giovanni sank back in his corner of the carriage, and was silent.

“We had better have the meeting in my villa,” said his father.  “If it rains, they can fight indoors.  I will send for the surgeon at once.”

In a few moments they reached the Palazzo Saracinesca.  The Prince left word at the porter’s lodge that any gentlemen who arrived were to be admitted, and all three went up-stairs.  It was half-past two o’clock.

As they entered the apartments, they heard a carriage drive under the great archway below.

“Go to your rooms, Giovanni,” said the old Prince.  “These fellows are punctual.  I will call you when they are gone.  I suppose you mean business seriously?”

“I care nothing about him.  I will give him any satisfaction he pleases,” answered Giovanni.  “It is very kind of you to undertake the matter—­I am very grateful.”

“I would not leave it to anybody else,” muttered the old Prince, as he hurried away to meet Del Fence’s seconds.

Giovanni entered his own rooms, and went straight to his writing-table.  He took a pen and a sheet of paper and began writing.  His face was very grave, but his hand was steady.  For more than an hour he wrote without pausing.  Then his father entered the room.

“Well?” said Giovanni, looking up.

“It is all settled,” said the old gentleman, seriously.  “I was afraid they might make some objection to me as a second.  You know there is an old clause about near relations acting in such cases.  But they declared that they considered my co-operation an honour—­so that is all right.  You must do your best, my boy.  This rascal means to hurt you if he can.  Seven o’clock is the time.  We must leave here at half-past six.  You can sleep two hours and a half.  I will sit up and call you.  Spicca has gone home to change his clothes, and is coming back immediately.  Now lie down.  I will see to your foils—­”

“Is it foils, then?” asked Giovanni, quietly.

“Yes.  They made no objection.  You had better lie down.”

“I will.  Father, if anything should happen to me—­it may, you know—­you will find my keys in this drawer, and this letter, which I beg you will read.  It is to yourself.”