For a time the others were incapable of action. Merrihew, Kitty, O'Mally and Smith were in the dark as to what had passed verbally; they could only surmise. But here was something they all understood. La Signorina was first to recover. She sprang toward the combatants and grasped Hillard's hand, the one buried in the prince's throat, and pulled. She was not strong enough.
"Merrihew, O'Mally, quick! He is killing him!" she cried wildly.
The two, Merrihew and O'Mally, finally succeeded in separating the men, and none too soon. The prince staggered to a chair and sank heavily into it. A moment more and he had been a dead man. But he was not grateful to any one.
La Signorina turned upon Hillard. "And you would have done this thing before my very eyes!"
"I was mad," he panted, shamed. "I love you better than anything else in God's world, and this man means that I shall lose you."
"And you would have come to me across his blood?" wrathfully.
"I was not thinking of that. The only thought I had was to kill him. God knows I'm sorry enough." And he was.
"Ah, what a night!" She swayed and pressed her hand over her eyes. "No, do not touch me," she said. "I am not the kind of woman who faints."
The prince lurched toward Hillard, but fortunately Merrihew heard the slithering sound of the saber as it left its scabbard. Kitty screamed and O'Mally shouted. Merrihew, with a desperate lunge, stopped the blow. He received a rough cut over the knuckles, but he was not aware of this till the excitement was past. He flung the saber at O'Mally's feet.
"You speak English," said Merrihew, in an ugly temper, half regretting that he had interfered with Hillard. "You may send your orderly to the Hotel Italie to-morrow morning, and your saber will be given to him. You will not carry it back to Florence to-night. Now, it is time to excuse yourself. We can get along without you nicely."