“He is not dead at all,” said the surgeon.  “You did the thing with a master’s hand—­you ran his throat through without touching the jugular artery or the spine.”

“Does he want to go on?” asked Giovanni, so savagely that the three men stared at him.

“Do not be so bloodthirsty, Giovanni,” said the old Prince, reproachfully.

“I should be justified in going back and killing him as he lies there,” said the younger Saracinesca, fiercely.  “He nearly murdered me twice this morning.”

“That is true,” said the Prince, “the dastardly brute!”

“By the bye,” said Spicca, lighting a cigarette, “I am afraid I have deprived you of the pleasure of dealing with the man who called himself Del Ferice’s second.  I just took the opportunity of having a moment’s private conversation with him—­we disagreed, a little.”

“Oh, very well,” growled the Prince; “as you please.  I daresay I shall have enough to do in taking care of Giovanni to-morrow.  That is a villanous bad scratch on his arm.”

“Bah! it is nothing to mention, save for the foul way it was given,” said Giovanni between his teeth.

Once more old Saracinesca and Spicca crossed the ground.  There was a word of formality exchanged, to the effect that both combatants were satisfied, and then Giovanni and his party moved off, Spicca carrying his green bag of foils under his arm, and puffing clouds of smoke into the damp morning air.  They had been nearly an hour on the ground, and were chilled with cold, and exhausted for want of sleep.  They entered their carriage and drove rapidly homewards.

“Come in and breakfast with us,” said the old Prince to Spicca, as they reached the Palazzo Saracinesca.

“Thank you, no,” answered the melancholy man.  “I have much to do, as I shall go to Paris to-morrow morning by the ten o’clock train.  Can I do anything for you there?  I shall be absent some months.”

“I thought you were going to fight to-morrow,” objected the Prince.

“Exactly.  It will be convenient for me to leave the country immediately afterwards.”

The old man shuddered.  With all his fierce blood and headstrong passion, he could not comprehend the fearful calm of this strange man, whose skill was such that he regarded his adversary’s death as a matter of course whenever he so pleased.  As for Giovanni, he was still so angry that he cared little for the issue of the second duel.

“I am sincerely grateful for your kind offices,” he said, as Spicca took leave of him.

“You shall be amply revenged of the two attempts to murder you,” said Spicca, quietly; and so, having shaken hands with all, he again entered the carriage.  It was the last they saw of him for a long time.  He faithfully fulfilled his programme.  He met Casalverde on the following morning at seven o’clock, and at precisely a quarter past, he left him dead on the field.  He breakfasted with his seconds at half-past eight, and left Rome with them for Paris at ten o’clock.  He had selected two French officers who were about to return to their home, in order not to inconvenience any of his friends by obliging them to leave the country; which showed that, even in moments of great excitement, Count Spicca was thoughtful of others.