So he pushes inquiry into her room;
With his naked sword demanding:
An alguazil, with a face like doom,
Sure of a stout withstanding.
And weapon to weapon they foined and fought:
The Count's first thrusts were vicious:
Three thrusts to the floor Odora had brought:
And one through the white, capricious.
The naked bosom of Donna De Vine—
And this is the Count's condition....