“Indeed, it is nothing,” he answered.

“But the indignity is immeasurable,” sighed Rodriguez.  “Would you care, senor, when you are well rested to give the chastisement yourself?”

“As far as that goes,” said the stranger, “I can chastise him now.”

“If you are fully recovered, senor,” Rodriguez said, “my own sword is at your disposal to beat him sore with the flat of it, or how you will.  Thus no dishonour shall touch your sword from the skin of so vile a knave.”

The stranger smiled:  the idea appealed to him.

“You make a noble amend, senor,” he said as he bowed over Rodriguez’ proffered sword.

Morano had not moved far, but stood near, wondering.  “What should a servant do if not work for his master?” he wondered.  And how work for him when dead?  And dead, as it seemed to Morano, through his own fault if he allowed any man to kill him when he perceived him about to do so.  He stood there puzzled.  And suddenly he saw the stranger coming angrily towards him in the clear moonlight with a sword.  Morano was frightened.

As the hidalgo came up to him he stretched out his left hand to seize Morano by the shoulder.  Up went the frying-pan, the stranger parried, but against a stroke that no school taught or knew, and for the second time he went down in the dust with a reeling head.  Rodriguez turned toward Morano and said to him ...  No, realism is all very well, and I know that my duty as author is to tell all that happened, and I could win mighty praise as a bold, unconventional writer; at the same time, some young lady will be reading all this next year in some far country, or in twenty years in England, and I would sooner she should not read what Rodriguez said.  I do not, I trust, disappoint her.  But the gist of it was that he should leave that place now and depart from his service for ever.  And hearing those words Morano turned mournfully away and was at once lost in the darkness.  While Rodriguez ran once more to help his fallen antagonist.  “Senor, senor,” he said with an emotion that some wearing centuries and a cold climate have taught us not to show, and beyond those words he could find no more to say.

“Giddy, only giddy,” said the stranger.

A tear fell on his forehead as Rodriguez helped him to his feet.

“Senor,” Rodriguez said fervently, “we will finish our encounter come what may.  The knave is gone and ...”

“But I am somewhat giddy,” said the other.

“I will take off one of my shoes,” said Rodriguez, “leaving the other on.  It will equalise our unsteadiness, and you shall not be disappointed in our encounter.  Come,” he added kindly.

“I cannot see so clearly as before,” the young hidalgo murmured.

“I will bandage my right eye also,” said Rodriguez, “and if this cannot equalise it ...”

“It is a most fair offer,” said the young man.

“I could not bear that you should be disappointed of your encounter,” Rodriguez said, “by this spirit of Hell that has got itself clothed in fat and dares to usurp the dignity of man.”