most before I was prepared for him, and his
point, parried with a downward stroke and narrowly averted, scratched
my thigh, but did more damage to my breeches than my skin, in exchange
I touched him playfully on the shoulder, and the sting of it drove him
back a second time. He was breathing hard by then, and would fain have
paused awhile for breath, but I saw no reason to be merciful.

"Now, sir," I cried, saluting him as though our combat were but on the
point of starting--"to me! Guard yourself!"

Again our swords clashed, and my blows now fell as swift on his blade
as his had done awhile ago on mine. So hard did I press him that he was
forced to give way before me. Back I drove him pace by pace, his
wrist growing weaker at each parry, each parry growing wider, and the
perspiration streaming down his ashen face. Panting he went, in that
backward flight before my onslaught, defending himself as best he could,
never thinking of a riposte--beaten already. Back, and yet back he went,
until he reached the railings and could back no farther, and so
broken was his spirit then that a groan escaped him. I answered with a
laugh--my mood was lusty and cruel--and thrust at him. Then, eluding his
guard, I thrust again, beneath it, and took him fairly in the middle of
his doublet.

He staggered, dropped his rapier, and caught at the railings, where for
a moment he hung swaying and gasping. Then his head fell forward, his
grip relaxed, and swooning he sank down into a heap.

A dozen sprang to his aid, foremost amongst them being St. Auban and
Montmedy, whilst I drew back, suddenly realising my own spent condition,
to which the heat of the combat had hitherto rendered me insensible. I
mastered myself as best I might, and, dissembling my hard breathing, I
wiped my blade with a kerchief, an act which looked so calm and callous
that it drew from the crowd--for a crowd it had become by then--an angry
growl. 'T is thus with the vulgar; they are ever ready to sympathise
with the vanquished without ever pausing to ask themselves if his
chastisement may not be merited.

In answer to the growl I tossed my head, and sheathing my sword I flung
the bloodstained kerchief into their very midst. The audacity of the
gesture left them breathless, and they growled no more, but stared.

Then that outrageous fop, Vilmorin, who had been bending over Canaples,
started up and coming towards me with a face that was whiter than that
of the prostrate m