'Keep on your coat! It is cold!'
Sangiorgio returned, fetched his great-coat, drew it over his shoulders, and joined the seconds. In the centre of the duelling-ground Castelforte and Lapucci were drawing lots for the choice of swords and the privilege of giving the words of command. Scalia and the doctor took Sangiorgio between them, and spoke to him quietly:
'Have you taken a mouthful of brandy?'
'No.'
'That's bad. One ought always to fortify one's self.'
'I shall not need it,' was Sangiorgio's mental retort.
'I am to give the words of command in the fight. You are to choose the swords,' said Castelforte. 'Do you wish to examine ours?'
'I choose our own,' answered Lapucci; 'here they are.'
Oldofredi, who was in another part of the ground, considering the landscape with an anemone between his lips, veered to the right-about. Castelforte stepped up to Sangiorgio, put a sword into his grasp, tied its handle to his wrist, and accompanied him to his post. The doctors moved off twenty paces. Scalia stayed at Sangiorgio's left, and Bomba at Oldofredi's left. Lapucci and Castelforte took up their position in the middle, opposite one another, each with sword in hand.
Oldofredi bore a more stupid and vacant expression than usual; certainly his mind was as yet unoccupied with what ought to have concerned him most.