ength were suggested by the white, muscular arm!
His wrist moved like a machine, lightly brushing aside the thrusts.
Had it been but accident that Mauville's unlooked-for expedient had
failed?

"The devil!" thought the count, watching the soldier. "Here is a
fellow who has deceived us all."

But the land baron's zest only appeared to grow in proportion to the
resistance he encountered; the lust for fighting increased with the
music of the blades. For some moments he feinted and lunged, seeking
an opening, however slight. Again he appeared bent upon forcing a
quick conclusion, for suddenly with a rush he sought to break over
Saint-Prosper's guard, and succeeded in wounding the other slightly in
the forehead. Now sure of his man, Mauville sprang at him savagely.

But dashing the blood from his eyes with his free hand, and without
giving way, Saint-Prosper met the assault with a wrist of iron, and
the land baron failed to profit by what had seemed a certain
advantage. The wound had the effect of making the soldier more
cautious, and eye, foot and hand were equally true. Mauville was
breathing heavily from his exertions, but the appearance of both men,
the supple movements of the one contrasting with the perfect precision
of the other, would have delighted those members of the count's
society, who regarded these matches as leading to a renaissance of
chivalry.

In his fury that his chance had slipped away, after wounding, and, as
he supposed, blinding his opponent, Mauville, throwing prudence to the
winds, recklessly attempted to repeat his rash expedient, and this
time the steel of his antagonist gleamed like quicksilver, passing
beneath his arm and inflicting a slight flesh wound. Something
resembling a look of apprehension crossed the land baron's face. "I
have underestimated him!" he thought. "The next stroke will be driven
nearer home."

He felt no fear, however; only mute, helpless rage. In the soldier's
hand the dainty weapon was a thing of marvelous cunning; his vastly
superior strength made him practically tireless in this play. Not only
tireless; he suddenly accelerated the tempo of the exercise, but
behind this unexpected, even passionate, awakening, the spectators
felt an unvarying accuracy, a steely coldness of purpose. The blades
clicked faster; they met and parted more viciously; the hard light in
Saint-Prosper's eyes grew brighter as he slowly thrust back his
antagonist.

Mauville became aware his o