hand turned as easily as a ball in a socket, avoiding the pressure, while his point scarcely deviated from the straight line.  Giovanni, angry at his failure, made a quick feint and a thrust, lunging to his full reach.  Spicca parried as easily and carelessly as though the prince had been a mere beginner, and allowed the latter to recover himself before he replied.  A full two seconds after Sant’ Ilario had resumed his guard, Spicca’s foil ran over his with a speed that defied parrying, and he felt a short sharp prick in his right shoulder.  Spicca sprang back and lowered his weapon.

“I think that is the spot,” he said coolly, and then came forward and examined Giovanni’s coat.  The point had penetrated the chalked mark in the centre, inflicting a wound not more than a quarter of an inch deep in the muscle of the shoulder.

“Observe,” he continued, “that it was a simple tierce, without a feint or any trick whatever.”

On realising his absolute inferiority to such a master of the art, Giovanni broke into a hearty laugh at his own discomfiture.  So long as he had supposed that some sort of equality existed between them he had been angry at being outdone; but when he saw with what ease Spicca had accomplished his purpose, his admiration for the skill displayed made him forget his annoyance.

“How in the world did you do it?” he said.  “I thought I could parry a simple tierce, even though I might not be a match for you!”

“Many people have thought the same, my friend.  There are two or three elements in my process, one of which is my long reach.  Another is the knack of thrusting very quickly, which is partly natural, and partly the result of practice.  My trick consists in the way I hold my foil.  Look here.  I do not grasp the hilt with all my fingers as you do.  The whole art of fencing lies in the use of the thumb and forefinger.  I lay my forefinger straight in the direction of the blade.  Of course I cannot do it with a basket or a bell hilt, but no one ever objects to common foils.  It is dangerous—­yes—­I might hurt my finger, but then, I am too quick.  You ask the advantage?  It is very simple.  You and I and every one are accustomed from childhood to point with the forefinger at things we see.  The accuracy with which we point is much more surprising than you imagine.  We instinctively aim the forefinger at the object to a hair’s-breadth of exactness.  I only make my point follow my forefinger.  The important thing, then, is to grasp the hilt very firmly, and yet leave the wrist limber.  I shoot in the same way with a revolver, and pull the trigger with my middle finger.  I scarcely ever miss.  You might amuse yourself by trying these things while you are waiting for Gouache.  They will make the time pass pleasantly.”

Spicca, whose main pleasure in life was in the use of weapons, could not conceive of any more thoroughly delightful occupation.

“I will try it,” said Giovanni, rubbing his shoulder a little, for the scratch irritated him.  “It is very interesting.  I hope that fellow will not go and have himself killed by the Garibaldians before I get a chance at him.”