“Get the foils, Spedella; I’ll have a bout with the 266 master. Gad, you’re as ill-looking as ever! It’s some time since I’ve touched a foil. I want to test myself. I have a little affair to-morrow. Hark you, my old brigand; I wish to see if I can kill him!”
“A lad of spirit!” chuckled the master, a gleam of interest illumining his cavernous eyes. “Young!––frisky!––an affair of honor to-day is but nursery sport. Two children with tin swords are more diverting. The world goes backward! A counter-jumper thinks he can lunge, because he is spry, that he can touch a button because he sells them. And I am wasting my genius with ribbon-venders––”
“I see the wolf growls as much as ever!” said the patroon. “Here’s a quiet corner. Come; tell me what I’ve forgotten.”
“Good!” returned the other. “You can tell me about your travels as we fence.”
“Hang my travels!” replied the patroon, as they leisurely engaged. “They’ve brought me nothing but regrets.”
“Feinte flanconnade––well done!” murmured Spedella. “So it was not honey you brought home from your rambles? Feinte seconde and decisive tierce! It’s long since I’ve touched a good blade. These glove-sellers and perfume-dealers––”
“You are bitter against trade, my bravo,” remarked the land baron.
“I was spoiling with languor when you came. Not bad, that feint––but dangerous, because of the possibility of misjudging the attack. Learn the paroles he 267 affects to-morrow by quick, simple thrusts, and then you will know what feints to attack him with. Time in octave––you quitted the blade in a dangerous position. Cluck; cluck, my game cock! Intemperance has befogged your judgment; high-living has dimmed your––”
“You have it!” laughed the land baron.
The button of his foil touched the old bravo’s breast; the steel was bent like a bow.