The surgeons hurried
over, but the wounded man instantly turned to Casteldieri, and with a
tremor of anger in his voice said roughly:--
'It is a mere scratch. I shall go on.'
He refused to go inside to have the wound-dressed. The bald doctor,
after squeezing the small hole, which scarcely bled, and sponging it
with antiseptic lotion, applied a simple piece of lint and said:--
'You may go on now.'
At Casteldieri's invitation, the Baron gave the word without delay for
the third round.
'On guard!'
Sperelli perceived his danger. Directly in front of him stood his
adversary, his knees firmly bent, masked, as it were, behind his rapier,
his whole strength resolutely collected for one supreme effort. His eyes
had a singular glitter, and the calf of his left leg quivered
perceptibly under the excessive tension of the muscles. This time, in
order to avoid the shock of his opponent's impetus, Andrea determined to
throw himself to one side and repeat the thrust which Cassibile had
employed so successfully, the white patch of lint on Rutolo's breast
serving him as a mark. It was there he proposed wounding him again, but,
this time, the rapier should enter the intercostal space and not be
deterred by the rib. The silence all about them deepened, the spectators
felt the homicidal desire that animated the two men, and were seized
with apprehension, their hearts sinking at the thought that doubtless
they would have to carry away a dead or dying man.
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