apo? A devil?"

"One of our guests, no doubt," said Cercamorte, dashing the tears
from his eyes. "Hark! the door at the foot of the staircase has
fallen. Now we come to our parting, old friend."

"Give me a bow and an arrow," cried Baldo, with a rattle in his
throat. "Whoever that zany is, he shall not dance at our funeral.
Just one more shot, my Lapo. You shall see that I still have it in me."

Cercamorte could not deny him this last whim. He found and strung a
bow, and chose a Ghibelline war-arrow. Behind them, young Foresto
drew in his breath with a hiss, laid his hand on his dagger, and
turned the colour of clay. Old Baldo raised the bow, put all his
remaining strength into the draw, and uttered a cracking shout of
bliss. The mannikin no longer danced; but toward him, from the
hillside, some men in steel were running. Baldo, sinking back into
Cercamorte's arms, at last allowed himself to be laid down.

Through the door filtered the rising tumult of the enemy.

Lapo Cercamorte's blood-smeared visage turned business-like. Before
grasping his sword, he bent to rub his palms on the grit of the
pavement. While he was stooping, young Foresto unsheathed his dagger,
made a catlike step, and stabbed at his master's neck. But quicker
than Foresto was Madonna Gemma, who, with a deer's leap, imprisoned
his arms from behind. Cercamorte discovered them thus, struggling
fiercely in silence.

"Stand aside," he said to her, and, when he had struck Foresto down,
"Thank you for that, Madonna. With such spirit to help me, I might
have had worthy sons. Well, here they come, and this door is a
flimsy thing. Get yourself into the casement niche, away from the
swing of my blade."

A red trickle was running down his legs; he was standing in a red
pool.

It began again, the splitting of panels, the cracking of hinges. The
door was giving; now only the pike-shafts held it. Then came a pause.
From far down the staircase a murmur of amazement swept upward; a
babble of talk ensued. Silence fell. Cercamorte let out a harsh laugh.

"What new device is this? Does it need so much chicanery to finish
one man?"

Time passed, and there was no sound except a long clattering from
the courtyard. Of a sudden a new voice called through the broken door:

"Open, Cercamorte. I am one man alone."

"Come in without ceremony. Here am I, waiting to embrace you."

"I am Ercole Azzanera, the Marquis Azzo's cousin, and your true
friend. I swear on my