also. His
hand was quick, his sight clear and sure, his knowledge to a certain
point most definite and practical, his mastery of the sword delightful;
but he had little imagination, he did not divine, he was merely a
brilliant performer, he did not conceive. I saw that if I put him on the
defensive I should have him at advantage, for he had not that art of
the true swordsman, the prescient quality which foretells the opponents
action and stands prepared. There I had him at fatal advantage--could,
I felt, give him last reward of insult at my pleasure. Yet a lust of
fighting got into me, and it was difficult to hold myself in check at
all, nor was it easy to meet his breathless and adroit advances.

Then, too, remarks from the bystanders worked me up to a deep sort of
anger, and I could feel Doltaire looking at me with that still, cold
face of his, an ironical smile at his lips. Now and then, too, a ribald
jest came from some young roisterer near, and the fact that I stood
alone among sneering enemies wound me up to a point where pride was more
active than aught else. I began to press him a little, and I pricked him
once. Then a singular feeling possessed me. I would bring this to an end
when I had counted ten; I would strike home when I said "ten."

So I began, and I was not aware then that I was counting aloud.
"One--two--three!" It was weird to the onlookers, for the yard grew
still, and you could hear nothing but maybe a shifting foot or a hard
breathing. "Four--five--six!" There was a tenseness in the air, and
Juste Duvarney, as if he felt a menace in the words, seemed to lose all
sense of wariness, and came at me lunging, lunging with great swiftness
and heat. I was incensed now, and he must take what fortune might send;
one can not guide one's sword to do the least harm fighting as did we.

I had lost blood, and the game could go on no longer. "Eight!" I pressed
him sharply now. "Nine!" I was preparing for the trick which would end
the matter, when I slipped on the frosty stones, now glazed with our
tramping back and forth, and, trying to recover myself, left my side
open to his sword. It came home, though I partly diverted it. I was
forced to my knees, but there, mad, unpardonable youth, he made another
furious lunge at me. I threw myself back, deftly avoided the lunge, and
he came plump on my upstretched sword, gave a long gasp, and sank down.

At that moment the doors of the courtyard opened, and men stepped