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other, which, from its hilt, appeared of antiquated workmanship. At the same moment, looking towards the Prince, he said, smilingly, "The Duc takes your grandsire's sword. Prince, you are too brave a man for superstition; you have forgot the forfeit!" Our host seemed to me to recoil and turn pale at those words; nevertheless, he returned Zanoni's smile with a look of defiance. The next moment all was broil and disorder. There might be some six or eight persons engaged in a strange and confused kind of mélée, but the Prince and myself only sought each other. The noise around us, the confusion of the guests, the cries of the musicians, the clash of our own swords, only served to stimulate our unhappy fury. We feared to be interrupted by the attendants, and fought, like madmen, without skill or method. I thrust and parried mechanically, blind and frantic, as if a demon had entered into me, till I saw the Prince stretched at my feet, bathed in his blood, and Zanoni bending over him, and whispering in his ear. That sight cooled us all. The strife ceased; we gathered, in shame, remorse, and horror, round our ill-fated host — but it was too late — his eyes rolled fearfully in his head. I have seen many men die, but never one who wore such horror on his countenance. At last, all was over! Zanoni rose from the corpse, and, taking, with great composure, the sword from my hand, said, calmly — 'Ye are witnesses, gentlemen, that the Prince brought his fate upon himself The last of that illustrious house has perished in a brawl.'