nursery sport. Two children with tin swords are more diverting. The
world goes backward! A counter-jumper thinks he can lunge, because he
is spry, that he can touch a button because he sells them. And I am
wasting my genius with ribbon-venders--"

"I see the wolf growls as much as ever!" said the patroon. "Here's a
quiet corner. Come; tell me what I've forgotten."

"Good!" returned the other. "You can tell me about your travels as we
fence."

"Hang my travels!" replied the patroon, as they leisurely engaged.
"They've brought me nothing but regrets."

"_Feinte flanconnade_--well done!" murmured Spedella. "So it was not
honey you brought home from your rambles? _Feinte seconde_ and
decisive tierce! It's long since I've touched a good blade. These
glove-sellers and perfume-dealers--"

"You are bitter against trade, my bravo," remarked the land baron.

"I was spoiling with languor when you came. Not bad, that feint--but
dangerous, because of the possibility of misjudging the attack. Learn
the paroles he affects to-morrow by quick, simple thrusts, and then
you will know what feints to attack him with. Time in octave--you
quitted the blade in a dangerous position. Cluck; cluck, my game cock!
Intemperance has befogged your judgment; high-living has dimmed
your--"

"You have it!" laughed the land baron.

The button of his foil touched the old bravo's breast; the steel was
bent like a bow.

Spedella forgot his English and swore in soft and liquid Italian. "I
looked around to see how those ribbon-venders were getting on," he
said after this euphonious, foreign prelude. "They pay me; I have to
keep an eye on them. All the same," he added, generously, "there isn't
another man in New Orleans could have stopped that stroke--except
myself!"

"Will I do--for to-morrow?" asked the patroon, moodily.

The master cocked his head quizzically; his deep-set eyes were soft
and friendly.

"The devil's with him, if you don't put your spur in him, my bantam!"

CHAPTER V

THE MEETING BENEATH THE OAKS

The mist was lifting from the earth and nature lay wrapped in the rosy
peace of daybreak as the sun's shafts of gold pierced the foliage,
illumining the historic ground of the Oaks. Like shining lances, they
gleamed from the interstices in the leafy roof to the dew-bejeweled
sward. From this stronghold of glistening arms, however, the
surrounding country stretched tranquil and serene. Upon a neighboring
bank sheep were b