Mosca's master the better for
her. In the rear of the procession stalked that gaping hero swearing
rapidly under his breath to keep himself in some sort of countenance.

Angioletto's assurance, and with it his luck, held out the evening. Not
otherwise could he have cleared himself of the mess. He fairly froze
Mosca by the coolness of his assumptions.

"I will fight you as soon as you choose, and with your own weapons,
after supper," said he, "but it is only fair to warn you that you will
be killed."

"How so, by the King of Glory!" cried the Captain.

"The wagging finger of Fate, sir," replied Angioletto readily, "and the
conjunctions of the stars. My horoscope was taken at Foligno with the
utmost exactitude. Mars himself, for reasons of his own, seems to have
presided over my begetting. More than that, though I have not the least
desire to take your life--should not, indeed, know what to do with
it--it will be impossible for me to avoid it. I am really very sorry.
Your case is just on a parallel with that of the younger Altopasso who,
on this very day a year ago, insisted upon fighting with me. It is true
that I do not pretend to love or even to approve of you, Captain; I
consider that your legs have outgrown your brains. But for all that, I
should be sorry to think that for want of a little ordinary politeness,
or for shanks out of due measure, an honest man had lost his life.
However, I fear the affair has gone too far."

The Captain grew purple and green by turns. The room of full tables was
all agog. He let out an oath which I omit.

"The affair has not gone so far as this blade shall go, turkey-poult,"
he thundered.

"Make yourself quite easy on that point, my good sir," said Angioletto,
cracking a walnut; "your sword shall fly the length of the room. I have
a pass that is irresistible. You cannot fight planets, Captain."

"I have never tried yet, by our Lord," the Captain admitted, "but no one
has dared to doubt my valour, and, planet or no planet, I'll run you
through."

Angioletto smiled at another walnut. "I find the conceit admirable,"
said he, "yet you will perish so sure as this city is Rovigo and a
titular fief of my mistress's master."

"A straw for your mistress, little egg," cried the suffocating Captain.

"I will give it to Countess Lionella as your dying gift, Signor
Capitano."

The name smacked him in the face; he shook his head like a worried bull,
or as a dog shakes water from his p