Rodriguez took one hopeless
look at the balcony, saw it as empty and as black as ever, then he
faced his antagonist, waiting.
"Bandage one eye, indeed!" muttered Morano as he stepped up behind
the stranger and knocked him down for the third time with a blow
over the head from his frying-pan.
The young hidalgo dropped silently.
Rodriguez uttered one scream of anger and rushed at Morano with
his sword. Morano had already started to run; and, knowing well
that he was running for his life, he kept for awhile the start
that he had of the rapier. Rodriguez knew that no plump man of
over forty could last against his lithe speed long. He saw Morano
clearly before him, then lost sight of him for a moment and ran
confidently on pursuing. He ran on and on. And at last he
recognised that Morano had slipped into the darkness, which lies
always so near to the moonlight, and was not in front of him at
all. So he returned to his fallen antagonist and found him
breathing heavily where he fell, scarcely conscious. The third
stroke of the frying-pan had done its work surely. Rodriguez' fury
died down, only because it is difficult to feel two emotions at
once: it died down as pity took its place, though every now and
then it would suddenly flare and fall again. He returned his sword
and lifted the young hidalgo and carried him to the door of the
house under which they had fought.
With one fist he beat on the door without putting the hurt man
down, and continued to hit it until steps were heard, and bolts
began to grumble, as though disturbed too early from their rusty
sleep in stone sockets.
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