“Bah! One—Two! That single disengagement—a lunge home; and I saw six inches of Chateau-Guerrand’s sword through our poor comrade’s back ere he went down. The youth wiped it carefully before he returned it, with a profusion of thanks, and found time, while Bouchon and his people gathered round the fallen man, to express his regrets with a perfect politeness to myself.
“‘Monsieur,’ said he, ‘I am distressed to think your friend will not profit by the lesson he has had the kindness to accept. I am much afraid he will never dance again.’”
“And where was the thrust?” asked Adolphe, a promising young fencer, who had been listening to the recital of the duel, open-mouthed.
“Through the upper lung,” answered Bras-de-Fer.
“In five minutes Flanconnade was as dead as Louis Quatorze! Here comes the Captain, gentlemen. It is time to fall in.”
While he finished speaking, the little bugler blew an astonishing volume of sound through his instrument. The Musketeers fell into their places. The line was dressed with military accuracy. The standard of France was displayed; the ranks were opened, and Captain George walked through them, scanning each individual of that formidable band with a keen, rapid glance that would have detected a speck on steel, a button awry, a weapon improperly handled, as surely as such breach of discipline could have been summarily visited with a sharp and galling reprimand. Nevertheless, these men were his own associates and equals; many of them his chosen friends. Hardly one but had interchanged with him acts of courtesy and kindness at the bivouac or on the march. Some had risked life for him; others he had rescued from death in the field. In half an hour all would be on a footing of perfect equality once more, but now Captain George was here to command and the rest to obey.
Such was the discipline of the Grey Musketeers—a discipline they were never tired of extolling, and believed to be unequalled in the whole of the armies of Europe.
There was little room for fault-finding in the order or accoutrements of such troops, and in a short space of time—easily calculated by the bystanders outside, from the arrival of sundry riding-horses and carriages of these gentlemen privates to throng the street—their inspection was over—their ranks were closed. The duties for the day, comprising an especial guard for the young king’s person were told off—Bras-de-Fer reported the death of the fencing-master—the commandant observed they must appoint another immediately—the parade was dismissed, and Captain George was at liberty to return to his quarters.