CHAPTER XXI.
“It will gratify me to meet your wishes,” said I, “in any further arrangement which you may propose.”
He. “M. le Capitaine, you particularly oblige me by saying so; for the business to which I now refer is one which personally affects you and me. In the conference which I had the pleasure of holding with you yesterday afternoon, you alluded to my parole in terms which affected my honour. As I said then, so I say now: I cannot permit that.”
I. “Nothing could be further from my intention. Surely, in merely reminding you of your parole, not saying you had broken it, and in viewing it according to my own interpretation rather than yours, I did nothing at which you can reasonably feel hurt.”
He. “Ha! you explain, but you do not apologise. M. le Capitaine, though punctilious—nay, more than punctilious, chivalrous—I am not implacable. One word of apology would——”
I. “Apology? What do you mean by apology? I tell you I intended no offence; and I have nothing to retract. If I unintentionally wounded your feelings, of course I regret it; but apology is out of the question.”
He. “Precisely. That is just what I expected you to say. Then, M. le Capitaine, there remains but one alternative. We had better decide this little affair at once. (Brings from a corner of the kitchen two swords.) You really must oblige me.” (Crosses the swords in his right hand, bows, and presents the hilts.)
I. “If you insist upon it, of course I must. I never heard of anything so absurd in my life!”
He. “Hold! Let me fasten the kitchen-door. That will prevent interruption on the part of my countrymen, and also of yours.” (He fastens the door.)
I. “The door may serve to exclude your men, but it will not keep out mine. No matter. They have already received orders to keep where they are, till summoned by me.” We crossed our swords.
He. “Hold! Excuse me one moment, just while I take off that boiler.”
Again our swords crossed.
He. “Monsieur, the attack is with you.” (Stamps.) “Commencez donc.” (Stamps twice.) “Not bad, that lunge. Hold! your left shoulder is a little too forward. Withdraw it un petit peu, if you please. Capital, that thrust in quarte! You lunge better in quarte than in tierce. I hope you enjoyed your dinner yesterday? Ah, you threw away that coup. By keeping your point a trifle lower, you might have had me just under the arm. I suppose the Padre was not in the best of humours? You fence a little too wide. Better! Capital! Capital!”
Though acknowledged the best fencer in my regiment, I could make no impression on M. le Tisanier. I therefore bowed, and stood on my guard.
“Ah,” said he, “now the attack is with me.”
The attack of M. le Tisanier was not only brilliant and energetic, but in every respect formidable. With the arm of a Hercules, the eye of a lynx, and the skip of a chimpanzee, he advanced, he retreated, he sidled right and left, he got round me, till we had more than once perambulated the whole circuit of the kitchen, and till I, in meeting him front to front, had repeatedly faced the opposite points of the compass. Any one practised in fence will understand, when I say that, even while I succeeded in parrying every thrust, his attack was evidently gaining upon me; that is, his movements in assault had become a little in advance of mine in guard; and this advantage (most important, though in point of time scarcely appreciable) he gradually went on improving as the attack proceeded. In fact, nothing could be cleaner than his style of operating. Even his wrist, though always in position, moved in a larger area than his point, which played about my sword in a small semicircle, like summer lightning.
At length, seeing an opportunity for which I had long watched, I raised my blade by the same movement with which I parried a thrust in quarte, and, ere he could recover himself, dropped it again so as just to touch his hand. My object was to inflict a slight wound, and disarm him. I was so far successful, that my point reached him, but with no visible consequences. I had made the first hit, but without putting my opponent hors de combat.
He sprang backwards with an angry growl, and for a few moments seemed to be collecting his forces. Foreseeing the impetuosity of his renewed assault, I prepared to give him a suitable reception; but, at the instant when about to commence a repetition of his favours, he moved a little to the right. This movement compelled on my part a corresponding change of position, to effect which I slightly shifted my left foot. My foot struck against something on the floor. I stumbled. Though just on the point of springing forward, M. le Tisanier, who through this mishap had me completely at his mercy, with a most winning bow immediately dropped his point.
The cause of my tripping is easily explained. Sergeant Pegden, either from having discovered, down in the cellar, that war had commenced over his head, or from some other motive, was beginning to raise the trap-door. I tripped against the edge. Stamping it down with my left heel, as a sign for the sergeant to keep quiet, but not so as to attract the notice of M. le Tisanier, who remained unconscious that my forces were in such immediate proximity, I again put myself on guard, saying, “My best acknowledgments are due for your forbearance. Whenever you wish to proceed, I am ready.”
“A thousand thanks,” said M. le Tisanier, with a renewal of supple and profound inflections. “I am satisfied.”
“Very well,” said I, extending my hand. “All things besides, then, can be easily arranged.”
We tackled after the English fashion, and shook hands—an operation the more sedulously sought on my part, from visible symptoms of preparation, on the part of M. le Tisanier, for what in those days so frequently terminated French duels—a hug.
The shake accomplished, I noticed something on my hand. It was blood.
“Is this yours, or mine?” I asked.
“Did I not tell you that I was satisfied?” said he. “My honour is satisfied. Whether I am whipped through the body, or scratched on the knuckle, what does it signify?”