“Yes,” cried Carrbroke, “that’s something like what I feel. I say, he’s your friend, isn’t he?”
“Well, hardly a friend. I feel more afraid of him than anything.”
“Yes,” said Carrbroke eagerly, “that’s how I feel—well, not afraid,” he continued hastily, and flushing up; “but you won’t mind my speaking out? You and I seem to have so taken to one another.”
“Well, yes,” said Denis, “we do seem to like one another a bit.”
“Then you won’t mind my speaking out quite plainly?” continued Carrbroke.
“Not I. What is it?”
“Only this. Do you think that there is something queer in his blade?”
“Only that it is best Italian steel.”
“Yes, of course,” said Carrbroke impatiently. “But I mean what they call magic—that there is something curious in it? You see, it turns so, and seems so strong.”
“Yes, that is strange,” said Denis. “It is no matter how you parry; the point always seems as if it could enter your breast if it liked. I always feel that Master Leoni could kill anyone just as he pleased.”