"Senor," he said, "I pray you to permit me to lean my mandolin
against the wall securely before we speak of my song."
"Most surely, senor," the stranger replied, "for there is no fault
with the mandolin."
"Senor," Rodriguez said, "I thank you profoundly." And he bowed to
the gallant, whom he now perceived to be young, a youth tall and
lithe like himself, one whom we might have chosen for these
chronicles had we not found Rodriguez.
Then Rodriguez stepped back a short way and placed his kerchief on
the ground; and upon this he put his mandolin and leaned it
against the wall. When the mandolin was safe from dust or accident
he approached the stranger and drew his sword.
"Senor," he said, "we will now discuss music."
"Right gladly, senor," said the young man, who now drew his sword
also. There were no clouds; the moon was full; the evening
promised well.
Scarcely had the flash of thin rapiers crossing each other by
moonlight begun to gleam in the street when Morano appeared beside
them and stood there watching. He had bought his bacon and gone
straight to the house with the balcony. For though he knew no
Latin he had not missed the silent greeting that had welcomed his
master to that village, or failed to interpret the gist of the
words that Rodriguez' dumb glance would have said. He stood there
watching while each combatant stood his ground.
And Rodriguez remembered all those passes and feints that he had
had from his father, and which Sevastiani, a master of arms in
Madrid, had taught in his father's youth: and some were famous and
some were little known.
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