Red rage now possessed me; I do not believe an angelic messenger could
have stopped me now. Changing my sword hand, I attacked my man, who ran
lightly back to avoid me. I pursued him, I closed with him, we had a
desperate rally for perhaps a minute and a half. I know that I pinked
him twice, for I saw the blood on his shirt; in another few seconds I
had his sword flying out of his hand and himself his full length on the
sward.

There then lay this shameful enemy, traducer of ladies, treacherous
friend, hirer of murderers--why should I spare him? I did not intend it.
I went up to him fully prepared to deal death upon him, fallen though he
were. At that moment I thought that no power of earth or Heaven could
have saved his life. And yet there was one power which could and did:
the power of Aurelia's name.

His pocket-handkerchief was stuck in his waistband; and as I stood above
him full of meditated and most reasonable murder, I happened to see upon
it, in red letters, his cipher; a coronet, and under that the initials
of his name, Amadeo Giraldi. They struck me like the writing on the
wall, as if they had been letters of fire. A. G., I read there--the
letters of Aurelia's virgin name! A. G.--Aurelia Gualandi, untried
maiden of Siena once, innocent of all the evil that men could devise
against her, unsullied rose dropped from the lap of Mary the mother of
us all! Could I dare--could I indeed dare to slay one who bore, though
shamefully, those letters of hers whose perfection I was here to
maintain? I knew that I could not; I lowered my sword.

I looked at him where he lay, perfectly still, calm now, with his black
eyes fixed upon mine. I said, "I hope that you are prepared for justice,
Count Giraldi, at my hands."