“By no means,” answered Lorenzi, looking handsomer than any man Casanova had ever seen before. “Only one of us two shall leave the place alive.” “What a hurry you are in, Lorenzi,” said Casanova in an almost tender tone. “Cannot the affair rest until we reach Mantua? I shall be delighted to give you a lift in my carriage, which is waiting at the turn of the road. There is a great deal to be said for observing the forms in these matters, especially in such a case as ours.” “No forms are needed. You or I, Casanova, at this very hour.” He drew his sword. Casanova shrugged. “Just as you please, Lorenzi. But you might at least remember that I shall be reluctantly compelled to appear in a very inappropriate costume.” He threw open the cloak and stood there nude, playing with the sword in his hand. Hate welled up in Lorenzi’s eyes. “You shall not be at any disadvantage,” he said, and began to strip with all possible speed. Casanova turned away, and for the moment wrapped himself in his cloak once more, for though the sun was already piercing the morning mists, the air was chill. Long shadows lay across the fields, cast by the sparse trees on the hill-top. For an instant Casanova wondered whether someone might not come down the path. Doubtless it was used only by Olivo and the members of his household. It occurred to Casanova that these were perhaps the last minutes of his life, and he was amazed at his own calmness. “M. Voltaire is a lucky fellow,” came as a passing thought. But in truth he had no interest in Voltaire, and he would have been glad at this supreme moment to have been able to call up pleasanter images than that of the old author’s vulturine physiognomy. How strange it was that no birds were piping in the trees over the wall. A change of weather must be imminent. But what did the weather matter to him? He would rather think of Marcolina, of the ecstasy he had enjoyed in her arms, and for which he was now to pay dear. Dear? Cheap enough! A few years of an old man’s life hi penury and obscurity. What was there left for him to do in the world? To poison Bragadino? Was it worth the trouble? Nothing was worth the trouble. How few trees there were on the hill! He began to count them. “Five... seven... ten.--Have I nothing better to do?” “I am ready, Casanova.” Casanova turned smartly. Lorenzi stood before him, splendid in his nakedness like a young god. No trace of meanness lingered in his face. He seemed equally ready to kill or to die. “What if I were to throw away my sword?” thought Casanova. “What if I were to embrace him?” He slipped the cloak from his shoulders and stood like Lorenzi, lean and naked. Lorenzi lowered his point in salute, in accordance with the rules of fence. Casanova returned the salute. Next moment they crossed blades, and the steel glittered like silver in the sun.