“How was it?” he asked.

“A simple ‘un, deux,’ tierce and carte at the first bout.  Spicca is as quick as lightning.  Come away from this crowd,” added Valdarno, in a low voice, “and I will tell you all about it.”

In spite of his sorrow at his friend’s death, Valdarno felt a certain sense of importance at being able to tell the story to Astrardente.  Valdarno was vain in a small way, though his vanity was to that of the old Duca as the humble violet to the full-blown cabbage-rose.  Astrardente enjoyed a considerable importance in society as the husband of Corona, and was an object of especial interest to Valdarno, who supported the incredible theory of Corona’s devotion to the old man.  Valdarno’s stables were near the club, and on pretence of showing a new horse to Astrardente, he nodded to his friends, and left the room with the aged dandy.  It was a clear, bright winter’s morning, and the two men strolled slowly down the Corso towards Valdarno’s palace.

“You know, of course, how the affair began?” asked the young man.

“The first duel?  Nobody knows—­certainly not I.”

“Well—­perhaps not,” returned Valdarno, doubtfully.  “At all events, you know that Spicca flew into a passion because poor Casalverde forgot to step in after he cried halt; and then Del Ferice ran Giovanni through the arm.”

“That was highly improper—­most reprehensible,” said Astrardente, putting up his eyeglass to look at a pretty little sempstress who hurried past on her way to her work.

“I suppose so.  But Casalverde certainly meant no harm; and if Del Ferice had not been so unlucky as to forget himself in the excitement of the moment, no one would have thought anything of it.”

“Ah yes, I suppose not,” murmured Astrardente, still looking after the girl.  When he could see her face no longer, he turned sharply back to Valdarno.

“This is exceedingly interesting,” he said.  “Tell me more about it.”

“Well, when it was over, old Saracinesca was for killing Casalverde himself.”

“The old fire-eater!  He ought to be ashamed of himself.”

“However, Spicca was before him, and challenged Casalverde then and there.  As both the principals in the first duel were so badly wounded, it had to be put off until this morning.”

“They went out, and—­piff, paff!  Spicca ran him through,” interrupted Astrardente.  “What a horrible tragedy!”

“Ah yes; and what is worse—­”

“What surprises me most,” interrupted the Duca again, “is that in this delightfully peaceful and paternally governed little nest of ours, the authorities should not have been able to prevent either of these duels.  It is perfectly amazing!  I cannot remember a parallel instance.  Do you mean to say that there was not a sbirro or a gendarme in the neighbourhood to-day nor yesterday?”

“That is not so surprising,” answered Valdarno, with a knowing look.  “There would have been few tears in high quarters if Del Ferice had been killed yesterday; there will be few to-day over the death of poor Casalverde.”