He awaited us near the ruinous Preceptory House of the Maltese knights, through whose ivy-clad arches, rent walls, and windows choked up with grass, the last flush of sunset was poured in strong columns of light; around us flourished gigantic green laurels, and many a glittering ilex, which completely screened us from the eyes of any stray passenger, and from the sentinels on Sir Louis de Watteville’s field-work. "I trust, sir," said I, saluting him, "that we have not detained you long?" "Not very," was the cold reply; "but we must be quick, or this affair will scarcely be settled before dusk." "You have no friend with you?" "None, save my usual weapons; but you have come pretty well attended. Two gentlemen well horsed and armed to the teeth!" "His excellency the grand bailiff, and one of his servants," said I. "My lord, the visconte, rarely rides abroad at present, and I think his presence here is somewhat unwise," said Almario, bowing to Santugo; who was piqued at the observation, and, nodding coldly, replied, "I cannot permit your coming to blows with this officer, in the quarrel of my cousin. By-the-by, to what branch of the service do you belong?—the cavalry?" "The irregular troops of the Masse," replied he, with a dark frown. Luigi bowed and said, "I am the guardian, the only protector and defender of Bianca d’Alfieri; and I claim this quarrel as mine." "I never meant to insult the Signora Bianca, or quarrel with her family—nothing would be further from my thoughts; but if my respectful declaration of a sincere passion offended, I am most heartily sorry, and will make any amends to which an Italian gentleman may stoop without dishonour." Luigi bowed again, in reply to this apology, and reined his horse back a few paces. "But with you, Signor Capitano," continued the colonel, addressing me, "the quarrel is too serious to be satisfied so easily. We have mutually defied each other, and my honour demands redress. Am I to understand that you are the challenger, and that by receiving your card it is at your request I am here?" "Assuredly, sir!" I answered haughtily. "Good!" said he, throwing his snaffle rein over the branch of a tree; "then with me lies the choice of weapons. Is it not so, visconte?" Santugo merely bowed again, but with evident hesitation; and dismounting, we gave our horses to Andronicus, who immediately drew off a little way. By so frankly avowing myself challenger, I had fallen into a regular scrape: an Italian would, perhaps, have prevaricated; yet I could hardly believe that the Colonel would make so cowardly a choice as to select the national weapon—the poniard. But it was so: after rolling his cloak round the left arm, with the utmost care and deliberation, he drew off his gloves, turned up his right sleeve to leave the hand and wrist perfectly free; buttoned his light blue military frock lip to the throat, threw aside his sabre, and offered me a pair of poniards, saying, briefly, "Choose."