For about a minute, they stood watching each other closely without ever crossing swords, almost motionless.

Sperelli bending his knees still more, on guard with the point low, assumed the tierce guard and sought to provoke his adversary by the insolent challenge of his eyes and by stamping his foot.

Rutolo made a step forward with a menace of straight thrust, accompanying it with a cry after the manner of certain Sicilian fencers.

The duel began.
Sperelli avoided any decisive movement, restricting himself to parrying only, forcing his opponent to discover his intentions, to exhaust all his methods, to bring out his whole repertoire of sword-play.

His parries were neat and rapid, never yielding a foot of ground, admirable in precision, as if he were taking part in a fencing match in the school with blunt foils; whereas Rutolo attacked him warmly, accompanying each thrust with a hoarse cry like that of the wood-cutters when they use their hatchets.
'Halt!' cried Santa Margherita, whose vigilant eye marked every flash of the blades.
He went up to Rutolo, 'You are touched, if I am not mistaken,' he said.
True, Rutolo had a scratch on the forearm, but so slight that there was no need even of sticking-plaster.