like Lorenzi, lean and naked.

Lorenzi lowered his point in salute, in accordance with the rules of
fence. Casanova returned the salute. Next moment they crossed blades,
and the steel glittered like silver in the sun.

"How long is it," thought Casanova, "since last I stood thus measuring
sword with sword?" But none of his serious duels now recurred to his
mind. He could think only of practice with the foils, such as ten years
earlier he used to have every morning with his valet Costa, the rascal
who afterwards bolted with a hundred and fifty thousand lire. "All the
same, he was a fine fencer; nor has my hand forgotten its cunning!
My arm is as true, my vision as keen, as ever..... Youth and age are
fables. Am I not a god? Are we not both gods? If anyone could see us
now. There are women who would pay a high price for the spectacle!"

The blades bent, the points sparkled; at each contact the rapiers sang
softly in the morning air. "A fight? No, a fencing match! Why this look
of horror, Marcolina? Are we not both worthy of your love? He is but a
youngster; I am Casanova!"

Lorenzi sank to the ground, thrust through the heart. The sword fell
from his grip. He opened his eyes wide, as if in utter astonishment.
Once he raised his head for a moment, while his lips were fixed in a wry
smile. Then the head fell back again, his nostrils dilated, there was a
slight rattling in his throat, and he was dead.

Casanova bent over him, kneeled beside the body, saw a few drops of
blood ooze from the wound, held his hand in front of Lorenzi's mouth
--but the breath was stilled. A cold shiver passed through Casanova's