the instant after, they came to _tierce_, both appeared more collected,
their blades for a while keeping in contact, and gliding around each
other as if they had been a single piece.

For several minutes this cautious play continued, without further
sparks, or only such as appeared to scintillate from the eyes of the
combatants. Then came a counter-thrust, quickly followed by a counter
parry, with no advantage to either.

Long ere this, an observer acquainted with the weapons they were
wielding, could have seen that of the two Kearney was the better
swordsman. In changing from _carte_ to _tierce_, or reversely, the
young Irishman showed himself possessed of the power to keep his arm
straight and do the work with his wrist, whilst the Creole kept bending
his elbow, thus exposing his forearm to the adversary's point. It is a
rare accomplishment among swordsmen, but, when present, insuring almost
certain victory, that is, other circumstances being equal.

In Kearney's case, it perhaps proved the saving of his life; since it
seemed to be the sole object of his antagonist to thrust in upon him,
heedless of his own guard. But the long, straight point, from shoulder
far outstretched, and never for an instant obliquely, foiled all his
attempts.

After a few thrusts, Santander seemed surprised at his fruitless
efforts. Then over his face came a look more like fear. It was the
first time in his duelling experience he had been so baffled, for it was
his first encounter with an adversary who could keep a _straight arm_.

But Florence Kearney had been taught _tierce_ as well as _carte_, and
knew how to practise it. For a time he was prevented from trying it by
the other's impetuous and incessant thrusting, which kept him
continuously at guard, but as the sword-play proceeded, he began to
discover the weak points of his antagonist, and, with a well-directed
thrust, at length sent his blade through the Creole's outstretched arm,
impaling it from wrist to elbow.

An ill-suppressed cry of triumph escaped from the Kentuckian's lips,
while with eyes directed towards the other second, he seemed to ask--

"Are you satisfied?"

Then the question was formally put.

Duperon looked in the face of his principal, though without much show of
interrogating him. It seemed as if he already divined what the answer
would be.

"_A la mort_!" cried the Creole, with a deadly emphasis and bitter
determination in his dark sinister eyes.