As he had had a lot of work to do both on board and on land, the day had flown by for Lieutenant della Rota and he had only been able to devote a small amount of time to his dying friend. But on board and on land, indeed everywhere, the young Genoan was pursued by the image of the beautiful Flemish damsel whom he was currently holding captive on his ship, who would be subject to his every whim, without the slightest vestige of protection, once his friend was dead. At first he sought to banish all such thoughts from his mind, but time and again they forced themselves upon him and there was no way that he could escape them and soon he gave up the struggle completely. The pretty child appeared to him in her desperation all the more charming. Among the sailors and men-at-arms, in the admiral's antechamber, in the streets of the town she appeared in his mind's eye as he saw her kneeling in a cabin of the Andrea Doria, wringing her hands. The wildest of passions broke out inside him in bright flames and he sought to overcome with the most convoluted sophistry the resistance of his conscience. What earthly use would it be to Antonio if he, Leone, were to send this woman back to where she came from? And now Leone recalled those moments during which he had held the young woman's delicate body in his arms, during which he had carried the unconscious girl through the gunsmoke and the streets. Then the wind had blown the damsel's fair hair into his face. "No, no, no, Antonio Valani, your right to this fair booty ceases with your life! All's fair in love and war, Antonio Valani. Strike your colours and pass away. Then your luck will devolve on me and tomorrow, tomorrow I'll be defeated and someone else will have the victory. All's fair in love and war, my poor Antonio!" With such thoughts in his head the lieutenant had walked into the cabin at twilight and now he stood, as we have shown him, between the dying man and Myga all of a tremble in the glimmer of the flickering ship's lantern. The idea of carrying the wounded captain ashore had been mooted, but with all the strength of a life about to be extinguished Antonio Valani had expressly forbidden this. He wanted to die on board his ship and not in a hospital. He had not forgotten in his delirium that Leone had brought the Flemish maiden that he loved onto the Andrea Doria. The nearer he is to death, the more he clings to this love, the more violently it manifests itself. In life he might almost have concealed it had his turbulent companion Leone della Rota not meddled in it. As he lies dying, his brain casts off all restraint; Antonio Valani no longer hides anything of what he has formerly felt and kept a secret. Poor Myga! See how she kneels there at the feet of the mortally wounded captain with her hair spread out, white as a ghost, wringing her hands! No salvation, none!