'There is no choice.' Vittoria walked to a distance at once.
Angelo directed the captain's eyes to where, lower in the pass, there was a level plot of meadow.
Weisspriess nodded. 'The odds are in my favour, so you shall choose the ground.'
All three went silently to the meadow.
It was a circle of green on a projecting shoulder of the mountain, bounded by woods that sank toward the now shadowy South-flowing Adige vale, whose Western heights were gathering red colour above a strongly- marked brown line. Vittoria stood at the border of the wood, leaving the two men to their work. She knew when speech was useless.
Captain Weisspriess paced behind Angelo until the latter stopped short, saying, 'Here!'
'Wherever you please,' Weisspriess responded. 'The ground is of more importance to you than to me.'
They faced mutually; one felt the point of his stilet, the other the temper of his sword.
'Killing you, Angelo Guidascarpi, is the killing of a dog. But there are such things as mad dogs. This is not a duel. It is a righteous execution, since you force me to it: I shall deserve your thanks for saving you from the hangman. I think you have heard that I can use my weapon. There's death on this point for you. Make your peace with your Maker.'
Weisspriess spoke sternly. He delayed the lifting of his sword that the bloody soul might pray.