loosely at his sides, their very pose indicating to his practised
eye their perfect suppleness.

The old doctor liked what he saw in the new candidate, and a grim
smile played over his face as the word of command was given.

The spot was a solitary one. The common that had been selected was
well away from the University, and admirably adapted to an encounter
such as this. The trees in the background sheltered the combatants
from observation in one direction, but for the rest the common lay
open and uninviting, and the chill morning air blowing across it
made the onlookers think longingly of their beds.

Notwithstanding this, every eye was riveted on the duellists. No
thought of the fact that probably one of the men would be carried
lifeless from the spot detracted from their interest in the
encounter. They loved a fight, it was their nature; and, rain or
snow, wind or hail, they would watch it to the bitter end.

At first the two young men fought cautiously, their heavy sabres
flashing and glinting in the morning light as they thrust and
parried with lightning rapidity. Later on Landauer seemed inclined
to attack, and his blows on Helmar's weapon rang out in quick
succession. Acting purely on the defensive, the latter parried the
onslaught with an ease that puzzled and angered his opponent, until
incautiously he fell into the trap by redoubling his attack. Helmar
had reckoned on this. He hoped soon to tire the bully out, and a
faint smile passed over his face, as with a head parry he stayed a
terrific blow from his fiery antagonist.

Whether it was the smile, or a sense of caution previously unheeded,
is doubtful; but Landauer evidently saw his mistake and endeavoured
to remedy it by defensive tactics. It was too late. He had already
begun to tire, while Helmar was still fresh. Seeing his opportunity,
the latter pressed his advantage with the utmost cleverness. Without
giving his opponent time to recover, he came at him with a rapidity
that fairly astonished everybody, never wasting any power on a
stroke which he knew would be parried. Sparks flew from their
swords, as with the agility of a swordsman only in the highest stage
of training he fought, bearing his opponent back with his lightning
thrusts.

It was a fine sight. The whole thing seemed little more than play to
him, while his antagonist was already breathing hard and showing
signs of fatigue.

In the third round Helmar received a slight wound in the