usiness to know everything that is worth knowing in my trade. There are
very few noble houses in France that can hope to hold any secrets from
me. You may take my word for it--that is how matters stand."

Staupitz and his five swordsmen sat silent and puzzled, leaving the ball
of conversation to be tossed between Cocardasse, Passepoil, and AEsop.

Cocardasse spoke next: "An ugly job. There's only one man alive to match
Louis de Nevers."

Something almost approaching a human smile distorted the wrinkled face
of AEsop and made it appear more than usually repulsive. "You mean me," he
said, and the smirk deepened, only to dissipate quickly as Cocardasse
replied:

"Devil a bit. I mean the little Parisian, Henri de Lagardere."

"The best swordsman in Paris!" Passepoil cried, enthusiastically.

"The best swordsman in France!" Cocardasse shouted.

Passepoil commented again: "The best swordsman in Europe."

Cocardasse, not to be outdone, put the final touch to the picture: "The
best swordsman in the world."

The name of Lagardere seemed to make a marked impression upon the
company. Every man seemed to have his contribution to make to the history
of the little Parisian.

Faenza was the first to speak.

"I met your Lagardere once," he said, "at a fencing-school in Milan,
where half a dozen French gentlemen met half a dozen gentlemen of my
nationality in a match to test the merits of the French and Italian
methods of fence. This Lagardere of yours was the only one whom I had any
difficulty in overcoming."

Cocardasse gave an ironic snort. It was evident that he did not in the
least believe the latter part of Faenza's narrative. Joel de Jurgan took
up the thread of reminiscence.

"If your Lagardere be the same as the man I am thinking of," he said, "I
came across him a couple of years ago at the fair of Neuilly. We had a
passage of arms, and I think I gave him a cut on the head, but it took me
some time, I promise you."

Cocardasse glared at the speaker, but said nothing, though the word
"liar" was plainly expressed in his scornful glance. Joel, impressed by
his angry face, hastened to add, with the air of one that praises an
adversary in the handsomest manner, "I swear he was the best fellow,
second to myself, that I ever met with the rapier."

"I have met him," grunted Staupitz. "He touched me once in a bout of
twelve points. That was a triumph for him, to my thinking."

Pepe added: "He fought with me once in Ma