Giovanni fought with the air of one who defended himself, without much thought of attack.  He did not bend so low as Del Ferice, his arm doubled a little before his lunge, and his foil occasionally made a wide circle in the air.  He seemed careless, but in strength and elasticity he was far superior to his enemy, and could perhaps afford to trust to these advantages, when a man like Del Ferice was obliged to employ his whole skill and science.

They had been fencing for more than two minutes, without any apparent result, when Giovanni seemed suddenly to change his tactics.  He lowered the point of his weapon a little, and, keeping it straight before him, began to press more closely upon his antagonist.  Del Ferice kept his arm at full length, and broke ground for a yard or two, making clever feints in carte at Giovanni’s body, with the object of stopping his advance.  But Giovanni pressed him, and suddenly made a peculiar movement with his foil, bringing it in contact with his enemy’s along its length.

“Halt!” cried Casalverde.  Both men lowered their weapons instantly, and the seconds sprang forward and touched their swords between them.  Giovanni bit his lip angrily.

“Why ’halt’?” asked the Prince, sharply.  “Neither is touched.”

“My principal’s shoe-string is untied,” answered Casalverde, calmly.  It was true.  “He might easily trip and fall,” explained Del Ferice’s friend, bending down and proceeding to tie the silk ribbon.  The Prince shrugged his shoulders, and retired with Giovanni a few steps back.

“Giovanni,” he said, in a voice trembling with emotion, “if you are not more careful, he will do you a mischief.  For heaven’s sake run him through the arm and let us be done with it.”

“I should have disarmed him that time if his second had not stopped us,” said Giovanni, calmly.  “He is ready again,” he added, “come on.”

“In guard!”

Again the two men advanced, and again the foils crossed and recrossed and rang loudly in the cold morning air.  Once more Giovanni pressed upon Del Ferice, and Del Ferice broke ground.  In answer to a quick feint, Giovanni made a round parry and a sharp short lunge in tierce.

“Halt!” yelled Casalverde.  Old Saracinesca sprang in, and Giovanni lowered his weapon.  But Casalverde did not interpose his sword.  A full two seconds after the cry to halt, Del Ferice lunged right forward.  Giovanni thrust out his arm to save his body from the foul attempt—­he had not time to raise his weapon.  Del Ferice’s sharp rapier entered his wrist and tore a long wound nearly to the elbow.

Giovanni said nothing, but his sword dropped from his hand and he turned upon his father, white with rage.  The blood streamed down his sleeve, and his surgeon came running towards him.

The old man had understood at a glance the foul play that had been practised, and going forward laid his hand upon the arm of Del Ferice’s second.