His pocket-handkerchief was stuck in his waistband; and as I stood above him full of meditated and most reasonable murder, I happened to see upon it, in red letters, his cipher; a coronet, and under that the initials of his name, Amadeo Giraldi. They struck me like the writing on the wall, as if they had been letters of fire. A. G., I read there--the letters of Aurelia's virgin name! A. G.--Aurelia Gualandi, untried maiden of Siena once, innocent of all the evil that men could devise against her, unsullied rose dropped from the lap of Mary the mother of us all! Could I dare--could I indeed dare to slay one who bore, though shamefully, those letters of hers whose perfection I was here to maintain? I knew that I could not; I lowered my sword. I looked at him where he lay, perfectly still, calm now, with his black eyes fixed upon mine. I said, "I hope that you are prepared for justice, Count Giraldi, at my hands." He replied with a smile, "I am prepared for anything, my dear sir. Least of all, perhaps, for justice at this moment." "It is what you least deserve," I said, "since it is what you practise least; but there are circumstances at work in your favour. You must, however, confess yourself a liar. That is indispensable. Come now, what do you say?" At this moment Malcolm came back with a red sword. "I have paid him in his own coin," he said, "but I think we had best be off." "Go, my dear Malcolm," I told him. "Do not delay a moment. I shall not leave Florence in any case." "Are you mad, my dear?" he cried. I said that I had no notion whether I was mad or not; but that I had work to do in Florence, and intended to finish it. I persuaded him at last to get away to Lucca at once, where I hoped to join him. The doctor came up to report Semifonte quite dead. I returned to the count, who said to me, "Every man over forty is, and must be, a liar, since, in a sense, his very existence is a lie. If it will satisfy you, I will assure you that I am over forty." I accepted that periphrasis. "And now," I said, "I will tell you to whom you owe your life. It is to that lady whom you have dared to traduce--to her and no other. I gather that you will not repeat your slander." "I promise you that, sir," said he. "But I am curious to learn how Donna Aurelia can have interceded." "Her name in maidenhood," I said, "was Aurelia Gualandi. There upon your handkerchief I read her initials, 'A. G.'" "The handkerchief is my own, I swear it!" he cried with passion. "Will you make the merest coincidence accuse her again? Shame upon you, sir." "Never in the world," said I. "I never doubted but it was your own. The cipher saved you, not the handkerchief."