They were daggers of Campo-forte, with elaborately carved ivory hilts, and blades about nine inches long, triangular, and fluted on two sides like bayonets. "Colonel," said I, "although in acknowledging myself challenger, I may have placed at your disposal the choice of weapons, if you suppose that a British officer will condescend to fight with knives or poniards like a drunken lazzarone, a hired bravo, or any brawling coward of Naples, you labour under an unhappy mistake. I have pistols in my holsters, and with these will meet you on equal terms." "By heaven! you greatly over-rate my good nature, if you imagine I will engage you with any weapons save those of my own choosing. Any other Neapolitan would have dispatched this business, by bestowing three carlini on some bold lad of the knife to tickle your ribs in the dark." "Your language is not that of an officer." "We fight with poniards, or not at all!" "Must this be?" I asked Santugo. "Formal duels are seldom fought in Italy: secretly or openly, the knife generally ends all disputes," replied the visconte; "but the challenged usually has the choice of weapons in all countries. Castelermo, a great authority in these matters, has—but I am astonished that Colonel Almario, as a soldier and a gentleman, should resort to this vulgar and antiquated mode of settling disputes." My friend seemed under considerable anxiety on finding that I had fallen into such a dilemma—about to fight with a murderous weapon in the management of which I was totally unskilled. "Captain Dundas, you had better make up your mind," said Almario, with a sneering aspect; "or our meeting may be ended in the dark like those of the bravos you so greatly despise." "Sir!" I replied sternly, "I am not ashamed to acknowledge my ignorance of the management of this pig-butcher’s weapon, and so—" "So decline the contest?" "No!—far from it; but I will meet you with my sabre or pistols." "I will accept of neither; being determined to slay you: so if you stand not on the defensive, I will rush on and end the matter by a single blow." This threat put an end to all further negotiation, and I felt the devil stirred up within me. "For God’s sake be wary!" whispered the visconte, as Zacheo bound a horse-cloak round my left arm; "keep the guard well up to protect your face and breast, and watch his eyes with the acuteness of a lynx." "Remember this ring," I muttered hurriedly (assassination now seemed certain); "it is our poor Bianca’s—and if anything happens—you understand me?" "No—no—not I—if aught untoward happens, by the blood of San Gennaro! the colonel shall cross his blade with mine:" and he left me.