But Nino is strong and young, and he is almost a Roman.

He foresaw the count's action, and his right hand stole to the table and grasped the clean, murderous knife; the baroness had used it so innocently to cut the leaves of her book half an hour before.

With one wrench he had disarmed the elder man, forced him back upon a lounge, and set the razor edge of his weapon against the count's throat.
"If you speak one word, or try to strike me, I will cut off your head," he said quietly, bringing his cold, marble face close down to the old man's eyes.

There was something so deathly in his voice, in spite of its quiet sound, that the count thought his hour was come, brave man as he was.

The baroness tottered back against the opposite wall, and stood staring at the two, dishevelled and horrified.
"This woman," said Nino, still holding the cold thing against the flesh, "lies in part, and in part tells the truth I love your daughter, it is true." The poor old man quivered beneath Nino's weight, and his eyes rolled wildly, searching for some means of escape.