“Good heavens, Giovanni!” exclaimed his father in the greatest excitement; “where on earth did you learn that trick?”

“On my travels, father,” returned Giovanni, with a smile; “where you tell me I learned so much that was bad.  He looks frightened,” he added in a low voice, as he glanced at Del Ferice’s livid face.

“He has cause,” returned the Prince, “if he ever had in his life!”

Casalverde and his witness advanced from the other side with a fresh pair of foils; for the one that had gone through the window could not be recovered at once, and was probably badly bent by the twist it had received.  The gentlemen offered Giovanni his choice.

“If there is no objection I will keep the one I have,” said he to his father.  The foils were measured, and were found to be alike.  The two gentlemen retired, and Del Ferice chose a weapon.

“That is right,” said Spicca, as he slowly went back to his place.  “You should never part with an old friend.”

“We are ready!” was called from the opposite side.

“In guard, then!” cried the Prince.  The angry flush had not subsided from Giovanni’s forehead, as he again went forward.  Del Ferice came up like a man who has suddenly made up his mind to meet death, with a look of extraordinary determination on his pale face.

Before they had made half-a-dozen passes Ugo slipped, or pretended to slip, and fell upon his right knee; but as he came to the ground, he made a sharp thrust upwards under Giovanni’s extended left arm.

The old Prince uttered a fearful oath, that rang and echoed along the walls of the ancient villa.  Del Ferice had executed the celebrated feint known long ago as the “Colpo del Tancredi,” “Tancred’s lunge,” from the supposed name of its inventor.  It is now no longer permitted in duelling.  But the deadly thrust loses half its danger against a left-handed man.  The foil grazed the flesh on Giovanni’s left side, and the blood again stained his white shirt.  In the moment when Del Ferice slipped, Giovanni had made a straight and deadly lunge at his body, and the sword, instead of passing through Ugo’s lungs, ran swift and sure through his throat, with such force that the iron guard struck the falling man’s jaw with tremendous impetus, before the oath the old Prince had uttered was fairly out of his mouth.

Seconds and witnesses and surgeons sprang forward hastily.  Del Ferice lay upon his side; he had fallen so heavily and suddenly as to wrench the sword from Giovanni’s grip.  The old Prince gave one look, and dragged his son away.

“He is as dead as a stone,” he muttered, with a savage gleam in his eyes.

Giovanni hastily began to dress, without paying any attention to the fresh wound he had received in the last encounter.  In the general excitement, his surgeon had joined the group about the fallen man.  Before Giovanni had got his overcoat on he came back with Spicca, who looked crestfallen and disappointed.