As we have said, Petro, finding that nothing short of an open and downright insult could bring Carlton to be the challenging party, therefore resolved to make a bold attempt to accomplish this.  He was revolving this matter over in his mind, when an event occurred which led him to be the challenger in fact.  He was strolling home from the weekly cordon of the Grand Duke one evening, and was just turning an angle of his uncle’s palace walls, when hearing the voice of a female in answer to that of a man, he paused, and following the sound, discovered Florinda leaning from a balcony in the lower range of the palace, and in close conversation with his hated rival, Carlton.  This was sufficient, under the circumstances, to raise all his fiery spirit, and he determined that it should serve him as a pretext for a quarrel.

Placing himself hard by where he knew Carlton must pass in his leave-taking of the palace, he patiently awaited his coming; and but a short time elapsed before Carlton, bidding good night to Florinda, was hastening from the spot, when he encountered Petro, whose dark countenance was the very picture of rage, while his large, dark eyes were wild with inward passion.

“Signor Carlton!”

“Signor Petro!”

They exclaimed, on confronting each other.

Carlton for a moment was thrown off his habitual guard, and losing his temper, was about to retort upon Petro with interest, both in frown and, if need be, with blows also.  But recalling himself, he assumed his usual precaution, and looked upon the angry Italian coolly, and without the least exhibition of temper.

“Well, Signor Carlton.”

“Well, Signor Petro.”

“Your mock me, signor.”

“You mock me, signor.”

“Signor, you are my enemy.”

“You seem to wish me so.”

“This talk will not serve for you, signor.”

“If you like it not, it were best for you to step on one side, and I will pass.”

The Italian bit his lips with suppressed rage, and seemed too angry to trust even his voice; but he did not remain long silent.

“Signor Americano,” said Petro, warmly, “you have insulted my uncle and myself by this secret interview with Signora Florinda, and I demand of you immediate satisfaction for it.”

“Signor Petro, I have no cause for contention with you,” was the reply of Carlton.  “I know you love not the lady, and you are equally aware of her feelings towards you.  Why then, I ask, should there be strife between us upon this subject?  Surely, you would not seek the hand of one who does not love you!  This is inconsistent, Signor Petro.”

“Do you accept my challenge, or shall I brand you as a coward in the streets of Florence,” was the abrupt and passionate rejoinder.  “It would sound bravely, by our lady, to write coward against the name you have rendered so popular, sir artist, among the nobilita in Florence.”