'Let us take the usual doctor—Alberti,' said Scalia. 'I will attend to it this evening.'
A small boy in livery, whose cap wore the inscription 'Caffè di Roma,' came into the place, looking about for someone. He had a note for the Honourable Sangiorgio.
'The Speaker of the Chamber has sent for me at the Roma café, where he will be until half-past nine.'
'And you will go,' said Castelforte. 'But stand your ground; do not allow your purpose to be changed.'
'Scalia! Scalia!' cried the mastiff Paulo from the other table, no longer capable of reticence, 'take care what place you choose for the duel! Let it be near a house, an inn, a farm—any sort of shelter. Since I once had to bring back poor Goffredi, wounded in the lungs, and gasping and spitting blood at every jolt of the carriage, over three miles of highroad all stones and ruts, I made a vow never to act as second again unless there was a bed ready within fifty yards.'
'Then it would be better to have it in a house,' suggested Correr.
'A house! Not at all!' exclaimed Scalia. 'It is unlucky in a house. All duels in houses end badly.'
The seconds rose, and for five minutes more conversed with their principal, all standing up together. They were watched with curiosity from the other tables, but the three faces betrayed nothing. Then followed a great profusion of vigorous handshakes and of bows. Sangiorgio, left alone, settled the bill. The guests at the other tables also left, bidding Sangiorgio farewell.
'Good luck, colleague! Ram it down the wolf's jaws!' said Correr.