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We
saluted
properly
,
and
properly
went
about
the
business
.
It
was
nothing
new
to
any
of
us
.
The
footing
was
good
,
as
promised
.
There
was
no
dew
.
The
moon
shone
fair
,
and
Fortini
's
blade
and
mine
were
out
and
at
earnest
play
.
This
I
knew
:
good
swordsman
as
they
reckoned
me
in
France
,
Fortini
was
a
better
.
This
,
too
,
I
knew
:
that
I
carried
my
lady
's
heart
with
me
this
night
,
and
that
this
night
,
because
of
me
,
there
would
be
one
Italian
less
in
the
world
.
I
say
I
knew
it
.
In
my
mind
the
issue
could
not
be
in
doubt
.
And
as
our
rapiers
played
I
pondered
the
manner
I
should
kill
him
.
I
was
not
minded
for
a
long
contest
.
Quick
and
brilliant
had
always
been
my
way
.
And
further
,
what
of
my
past
gay
months
of
carousal
and
of
singing
"
Sing
cucu
,
sing
cucu
,
sing
cucu
,
"
at
ungodly
hours
,
I
knew
I
was
not
conditioned
for
a
long
contest
.
Quick
and
brilliant
was
my
decision
.
But
quick
and
brilliant
was
a
difficult
matter
with
so
consummate
a
swordsman
as
Fortini
opposed
to
me
.
Besides
,
as
luck
would
have
it
,
Fortini
,
always
the
cold
one
,
always
the
tireless-wristed
,
always
sure
and
long
,
as
report
had
it
,
in
going
about
such
business
,
on
this
night
elected
,
too
,
the
quick
and
brilliant
.
It
was
nervous
,
tingling
work
,
for
as
surely
as
I
sensed
his
intention
of
briefness
,
just
as
surely
had
he
sensed
mine
.
I
doubt
that
I
could
have
done
the
trick
had
it
been
broad
day
instead
of
moonlight
.
The
dim
light
aided
me
.
Also
was
I
aided
by
divining
,
the
moment
in
advance
,
what
he
had
in
mind
.
It
was
the
time
attack
,
a
common
but
perilous
trick
that
every
novice
knows
,
that
has
laid
on
his
back
many
a
good
man
who
attempted
it
,
and
that
is
so
fraught
with
danger
to
the
perpetrator
that
swordsmen
are
not
enamoured
of
it
.
We
had
been
at
work
barely
a
minute
,
when
I
knew
under
all
his
darting
,
flashing
show
of
offence
that
Fortini
meditated
this
very
time
attack
.
He
desired
of
me
a
thrust
and
lunge
,
not
that
he
might
parry
it
but
that
he
might
time
it
and
deflect
it
by
the
customary
slight
turn
of
the
wrist
,
his
rapier
point
directed
to
meet
me
as
my
body
followed
in
the
lunge
.
A
ticklish
thing
--
ay
,
a
ticklish
thing
in
the
best
of
light
.
Did
he
deflect
a
fraction
of
a
second
too
early
,
I
should
be
warned
and
saved
.
Did
he
deflect
a
fraction
of
a
second
too
late
,
my
thrust
would
go
home
to
him
.
"
Quick
and
brilliant
is
it
?
"
was
my
thought
.
"
Very
well
,
my
Italian
friend
,
quick
and
brilliant
shall
it
be
,
and
especially
shall
it
be
quick
.
"
In
a
way
,
it
was
time
attack
against
time
attack
,
but
I
would
fool
him
on
the
time
by
being
over-quick
.
And
I
was
quick
.
As
I
said
,
we
had
been
at
work
scarcely
a
minute
when
it
happened
.
Quick
?
That
thrust
and
lunge
of
mine
were
one
.
A
snap
of
action
it
was
,
an
explosion
,
an
instantaneousness
.
I
swear
my
thrust
and
lunge
were
a
fraction
of
a
second
quicker
than
any
man
is
supposed
to
thrust
and
lunge
.
I
won
the
fraction
of
a
second
.
By
that
fraction
of
a
second
too
late
Fortini
attempted
to
deflect
my
blade
and
impale
me
on
his
.
But
it
was
his
blade
that
was
deflected
.
It
flashed
past
my
breast
,
and
I
was
in
--
inside
his
weapon
,
which
extended
full
length
in
the
empty
air
behind
me
--
and
my
blade
was
inside
of
him
,
and
through
him
,
heart-high
,
from
right
side
of
him
to
left
side
of
him
and
outside
of
him
beyond
.
It
is
a
strange
thing
to
do
,
to
spit
a
live
man
on
a
length
of
steel
.
I
sit
here
in
my
cell
,
and
cease
from
writing
a
space
,
while
I
consider
the
matter
.
And
I
have
considered
it
often
,
that
moonlight
night
in
France
of
long
ago
,
when
I
taught
the
Italian
hound
quick
and
brilliant
.
It
was
so
easy
a
thing
,
that
perforation
of
a
torso
.
One
would
have
expected
more
resistance
.
There
would
have
been
resistance
had
my
rapier
point
touched
bone
.
As
it
was
,
it
encountered
only
the
softness
of
flesh
.
Still
it
perforated
so
easily
.
I
have
the
sensation
of
it
now
,
in
my
hand
,
my
brain
,
as
I
write
.
A
woman
's
hat-pin
could
go
through
a
plum
pudding
not
more
easily
than
did
my
blade
go
through
the
Italian
.
Oh
,
there
was
nothing
amazing
about
it
at
the
time
to
Guillaume
de
Sainte-Maure
,
but
amazing
it
is
to
me
,
Darrell
Standing
,
as
I
recollect
and
ponder
it
across
the
centuries
.
It
is
easy
,
most
easy
,
to
kill
a
strong
,
live
,
breathing
man
with
so
crude
a
weapon
as
a
piece
of
steel
.
Why
,
men
are
like
soft-shell
crabs
,
so
tender
,
frail
,
and
vulnerable
are
they
.
