As soon as he could do so without an actual breach of politeness, de
Sigognac took his leave, and retiring to his own chamber locked himself
in; then took an ancient sword out of the woollen case in which he kept
it to preserve it from rust--his father's sword--which he had brought
with him from home, as a faithful friend and ally. He drew it slowly out
of the scabbard, kissing the hilt with fervent affection and respect as
he did so, for to him it was sacred. It was a handsome weapon, richly,
but not too profusely, ornamented--a sword for service, not for show;
its blade of bluish steel, upon which a few delicate lines of gold were
traced, bore the well-known mark of one of the most celebrated armourers
of Toledo. The young baron examined the edge critically, drawing his
fingers lightly over it, and then, resting the point against the door,
bent it nearly double to test its elasticity. The noble blade stood the
trial right valiantly, and there was no fear of its betraying its master
in the hour of need. Delighted to have it in his hand again, and excited
by the thought of what was in store for it and himself, de Sigognac
began to fence vigorously against the wall, and to practise the varius
thrusts and passes that his faithful old Pierre, who was a famous
swordsman, had taught him at Castle Misery. They had been in the habit
of spending hours every day in these lessons, glad of some active
occupation, and the exercise had developed the young baron's frame,
strengthened his muscles, and greatly augmented his natural suppleness
and agility. He was passionately fond of and had thoroughly studied the
noble art of fencing, and, while he believed himself to be still only a
scholar, had long been a master in it--a proficient, such as is rarely
to be found, even in the great cities. A better instructor than old
Pierre he could not have had--not in Paris itself--and buried though he
had been in the depths of the country, entirely isolated, and deprived
of all the usual advantages enjoyed by young men of his rank, he yet
had become, though perfectly unconscious of it, a match for the most
celebrated swordsmen in France--that is to say, in the world--able
to measure blades with the best of them. He may not have had all the
elegant finish, and the many little airs and graces affected by
the young sprigs of nobility and polished men of fashion in their
sword-play, but skilful indeed must be the blade that could penetrate
within t