"Put up your sword—put it up, or I run you through as you are!"
And because there was no help for it, save to fight, Trotto did so, but his hand shook, and his courage was gone. He made a little show of resistance; but it was nothing, and at the third or fourth pass he thrust too high. He was late in the recovery, and I ran him through the side.
"Jesus!" he screamed, "I am dead!"
Then he fell forward on his face, his fingers working convulsively.
"He is dead too!" said Pierrebon as he stooped over the body.
"Not yet," I said, and then for the first time I saw the huge figure of Piero lying stark, the knife still in his clutch, and I saw too what I owed Pierrebon, and wrung the honest fellow's hand.
"Come!" I said. "Now for mademoiselle, and we shall be off. There are others who will attend to these."
"A moment, monsieur! The arquebus is not loaded, and this, perhaps, will be more useful." So saying Pierrebon stooped and picked up Trotto's sword. As he did so he noticed the keys at the Italian's girdle.
"And this too," he added, as with a touch of the sharp sword he cut the light leather strap, and taking the keys followed me out into the gallery.