"Very well," said Cellini, passing his weapon from one hand to the other, "I will fight with my left hand, and that will make us equal."
"I fight with you, my benefactor?—you, to whom I owe everything? Never! never!"
A smile of profound contempt overspread Benvenuto's face, while Scozzone recoiled without seeking to conceal the disgust which showed itself in her expression.
"You should have remembered my benefactions before stealing from me the woman I intrusted to your honor and Ascanio's," said Benvenuto. "Your memory has come back to you too late. On guard, Pagolo! on guard!"
"No! no!" murmured the coward, falling back upon his knees.
"As you refuse to fight like an honest man," said Benvenuto, "I propose to punish you as a scoundrel."
He replaced his sword in its sheath, drew his dagger, and walked slowly toward the apprentice without the slightest indication either of anger or compassion upon his impassive features.
Scozzone rushed between them with a shriek; but Benvenuto, without violence, with a motion of his arm as irresistible as that of a bronze statue endowed with life, put her aside, and the poor girl fell back half dead upon her chair. Benvenuto walked on toward Pagolo, who receded as far as the wall. There the master overtook him, and said, putting his dagger to his throat,—
"Commend your soul to God: you have five minutes to live."
"Mercy!" cried Pagolo in an inarticulate voice; "do not kill me! mercy! mercy!"