at Talavera. You did all you could to make us afraid the night before we struck for liberty. You—”
“Liar!” screamed Poivre: “to-morrow I will prove it on your great big carcase. Valentin, my friend, come with me.”
A gentleman of not very prepossessing appearance responded to the call.
Most of the prisoners were delighted. It was the prospect of a little amusement, of which they did not enjoy much.
The formalities of a duel were gone through with the utmost possible punctilio. The seconds arranged that, as there were no swords to be had, the principals should fight with knives fastened to short sticks, with guards and handles. And as this took up time, it was agreed to put off the duel to sunrise on the second day. So all the next they were shaping and sharpening the knives with the best tools they had; and some armourers, who happened to belong to their yard, helped them.
Warning was given in the common room that night that there should be as little noise and talking as possible on the part of the prisoners, lest the soldiers on guard should hear it, and be led to interfere.
So, as soon as it was light, the two men, Malin and Poivre, were standing, like two fools, in due position, and in that part of the yard which was furthest from the gates, ready, as soon as the signal was given, to try and cut each other to pieces.
Yet, were they greater fools than they who fight with better weapons? We may admire their pluck, but we cannot admire their sense. A duel proves nothing but that each is a brave man, except it be the duel between French political adversaries in these days, when one pricks the other, and both are satisfied!
But they have saluted and begun. At first they eyed each other steadily, and made feints, and changed their ground. And this went on
so long that at last some irreverent bystander, longing to see business done, cried out, “Allons, mes amis, avancez.” And at that moment a skilful thrust from Malin wounded Poivre in the face, and the first blood was drawn. But Malin received it back with interest, for Poivre, who was a tall and very muscular man, beat down the other’s guard, and laid open his bare head. And then both slashed and gashed away without any attempt at guarding, till the disgusting spectacle was ended by Malin dropping down, like a fat pig cut up before he was killed.