THE FOOL ERRANT - World eBook Library - World Public Library

please. I don't know whether you believe that this has been part of my plan, or whether you care to hear me deny it. If you
believe me a liar, you can easily believe me assassin also. I will bid you good-night, Don Francis. We know where to find each
other."
I told him that my friend, Mr. Robert Malcolm, of the English Legation, would receive any friend of his, at any hour—the sooner
the better. He went away.
I removed my foot from the marchese's neck and told him to get up.
"You see, my lord, what your friend thinks of you by the way he has disavowed your performance and left you in the mud," I
said. "Give yourself the trouble to go to your own house." I gave him the road and waited while he walked swiftly away. I
incline to believe that he was mad, this miserable man. He said nothing—not one word—but did exactly as he was told. I could
barely make out the outline of him in the darkness, and could not see his eyes. I know that they were white and scared.
CHAPTER XLV. THE MEETING
Bob Malcolm came to see me early in the morning with news that the count's cartel had been delivered in form. He told me that
I might as well fight the Grand Duke—"For if you kill, Frank, if you kill," says he, "you'll be in a fortress for life; and if you don't
kill, why, then you're a dead man. Body of a dog, as they say here, you're a dead man either way." Good Bob was much put
about.
I did my best to hearten him. I said that I would take the risk of Volterra, as I had taken it before, and should do my best to kill
the count. He was, I said, a lying blasphemer whose death would be an act of justice. Malcolm whistled.
"This is a devilish sharp-set affair," says he; "for that is just how the marchese put his man's frame of mind. He stipulates, it
seems, that you fight to the death. Look out for him too, Frank," he added. "He is dangerous. I never liked him; and to-day he
looked like a sick wolf."
"Who is your marchese?" I asked without interest.
"Semifonte," says Bob, "and as mad as a March hare." I got up at once. I said, "I shall kill Count Giraldi."
We met in the Cascine at six o'clock of a foggy morning; the light bad, the ground heavy from a night's rain. The marchese wore
black, I remember, and looked horrible; a wan, doomed face, a mouth drawn down at one corner, a slavered, untidy red
beard; and those wide fish-eyes of his which seemed to see nothing. Count Giraldi bore himself gallantly, as he always did. I
was extremely cool.
We stripped and faced each other, the swords were produced and measured; we saluted, and the count at once began a
furious attack. I think that on any ordinary occasion he would have proved the better man; he was fully as strong as myself, and
as good in the wind—for he lived temperately; and he had had more experience. But to-day, as I soon discovered, he was
flurried and made mistakes; twice in the first five minutes I could have disarmed him, and once I very nearly had his life. He was
foolhardy to an extraordinary degree; his eyes were unsteady; it seemed to me that he was thinking of something else; and
before we had been long engaged I discovered that he was thinking of two things, the first, his own certain death, the second,
the state of mind of the Marchese Semifonte. My finding out of the second of these made me resolute to bring about the first of
them; otherwise, so wildly was he at work I don't believe I could have brought myself to kill such a tyro as he was proving.
The fact which determined me to kill him was this. I had pushed him vigorously, after parrying with ease half a dozen of his
frenzied attacks—I had pushed him, and he had given ground as usual; but, although I did not perceive it at the time, in giving
way he had worked back towards his second, who had not budged; so that, as I advanced, I got to be actually within
wounding distance of the marchese. Bob Malcolm ought to have knocked our swords up, no doubt; but he did not. In the full
tide of my attack, then, when I had my man almost at my mercy, I felt a sudden and sharp pain in the side, and at the same
moment heard Malcolm's cry, "Ah, bloody villain, none of that!" Almost immediately I heard the clash of swords, and turning
my head for a moment, saw our seconds engaged. In that same instant of forgetfulness Giraldi was upon me, lunged furiously
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