He rocked a second in his saddle, then crashed over, and lay with arms flung wide, like a huge black crucifix, upon the white ground.

At the same moment a piercing scream broke from Madonna Paola.
I tremble still to think what might have been her fate had not those ruffians who had laid hands on her fallen into the sorry error of holding their single adversary too lightly.

They heard the thud of the gallant Stefano's fall, and they never doubted that mine was the body that had gone down.

They heard the rapid hoof-beats of my approach, yet, they never turned their heads to ascertain whether they might not be mistaken in their firm conviction that it was Messer Stefano who was joining them.
I kissed my blade for luck, and drove it straight and full into the back of the fellow on Madonna Paola's right.

He cried out, essayed to turn in his saddle that he might deal with this unlooked-for assailant, then, overcome, he lurched forward on to the withers of his horse and thence rolled over, and was dragged away at the gallop, his foot caught in a stirrup, by the suddenly startled brute he rode.
So far things had gone with an amazing and delightful ease.