esimal brain--to thinking out some
pleasant detail for this duel, which might be acceptable to you. Thus,
sir, the thought of weapons springs to my mind.... Swords you said, I
think. Sir! I will e'en restrict my choice of conditions to that of the
actual weapons with which we are to fight.... Ffoulkes, I pray you," he
added, turning to his friend, "the pair of swords which lie across the
top of my desk at this moment....

"We'll not ask a menial to fetch them, eh, Monsieur?" he continued
gaily, as Sir Andrew Ffoulkes at a sign from him had quickly left the
room. "What need to bruit our pleasant quarrel abroad? You will like the
weapons, sir, and you shall have your own choice from the pair.... You
are a fine fencer, I feel sure... and you shall decide if a scratch or
two or a more serious wound shall be sufficient to avenge Mademoiselle
Candeille's wounded vanity."

Whilst he prattled so gaily on, there was dead silence among all
those present. The Prince had his shrewd eyes steadily fixed upon him,
obviously wondering what this seemingly irresponsible adventurer held
at the back of his mind. There is no doubt that everyone felt oppressed,
and that a strange murmur of anticipatory excitement went round the
little room, when, a few seconds later, Sir Andrew Ffoulkes returned,
with two sheathed swords in his hand.

Blakeney took them from his friend and placed them on the little table
in front of ex-Ambassador Chauvelin. The spectators strained their necks
to look at the two weapons. They were exactly similar one to the
other: both encased in plain black leather sheaths, with steel ferrules
polished to shine like silver; the handles too were of plain steel,
with just the grip fashioned in a twisted basket pattern of the same
highly-tempered metal.

"What think you of these weapons, Monsieur?" asked Blakeney, who was
carelessly leaning against the back of a chair.

Chauvelin took up one of the two swords and slowly drew it from out its
scabbard, carefully examining the brilliant, narrow steel blade as he
did so.

"A little old-fashioned in style and make, Sir Percy," he said, closely
imitating his opponent's easy demeanour, "a trifle heavier, perhaps,
than we in France have been accustomed to lately, but, nevertheless, a
beautifully tempered piece of steel."

"Of a truth there's not much the matter with the tempering, Monsieur,"
quoth Blakeney, "the blades were fashioned at Toledo just two hundred
years ago."

"