He made for the angle of the church whence he had come. There were railings there about a loggia, much broken down, by which, I suppose, he hoped to get some sort of a screen, but I intended him to fight me in the Piazza, so increased my speed, and cut him off that retreat. He doubled, and scoured past the steps of the church, round by the hospital, making for the Via del Fosso; I cut a segment of his circle and stopped him there. Round he span, slavering at the lips, and went dead over the Piazza, to the obelisks, I so close on his traces that I could not have missed him if I had chosen for murder. It was like coursing a hare, for hare-like in his pains, he began to scream--not very loudly; a wretched, wrung and wiry appeal, like some bad woman's, was all he could muster. Between the obelisks he fell on his knees, and when I reached him was praying, "Sancta Mater! Diva Mater! Ab hostium incidiis libera me!" I saw a head at a window, a head in a night-cap--a man's. Over it peeped another--a woman's. But I knew my Florence: there would be no interference in a duel. I said, "Get up, Palamone, and fight with me." He was wild with terror--cried, "No, no, no--spare me! I give you my word, my sacred word--" "You have none to give; you have broken it," I told him. "I will have no word in pieces. Get up, liar, and fight." I got him to his feet, set him by his obelisk to face me. I loaded his piece for him, put it into his hands, then stepped back, facing him always, till I was fifteen yards away. "Drop your glove when you are ready," I told him, "and fire first." He took as good aim as he could, I am sure; but I could see his shaking arm quite well. He missed me by a full yard at least. Then he waited for me, having got his courage back. I shot him in the breast, and he fell at once, and lay still. The faces at the window had disappeared; looking round the Piazza, I could see nothing but blank green shutters. When I went up to Palamone he opened his eyes. He was not bleeding freely, and seemed more weak than in pain. "I am a dead man," he said in a whisper--I had to kneel down to hear him--"a dead man who has got his deserts. Semifonte intended to have your Virginia--but it was not Giraldi--it was not Gir--" Strength failed him; I could not catch any more than the name of Aurelia. "Where are you hurt? Shall I fetch a surgeon?" He was hardly bleeding at all now--a bad sign. He shook his head and lay quiet. I made a pillow of my coat. When he opened his eyes again they were very dim. "I'm off," he said, in that same dry whisper. "You have served me right--I love you for it. I have always loved you--but--yes, always loved you. Kiss me, Francis, if you can."