At parting Grandjon-Larisse bowed to Philip with great politeness, and said: “In Paris then, monsieur le prince.”
Philip bowed his head in assent.
When they met again, it was at the entrance to the Bois de Boulogne near the Maillot gate.
It was a damp grey morning immediately before sunrise, and at first there was scarce light enough for the combatants to see each other perfectly, but both were eager and would not delay.
As they came on guard the sun rose. Philip, where he stood, was full in its light. He took no heed, and they engaged at once. After a few passes Grandjon-Larisse said: “You are in the light, monseigneur; the sun shines full upon you,” and he pointed to the shade of a wall near by. “It is darker there.”
“One of us must certainly be in the dark-soon,” answered Philip grimly, but he removed to the wall. From the first Philip took the offensive. He was more active, and he was quicker and lighter of fence than his antagonist. But Grandjon-Larisse had the surer eye, and was invincibly certain of hand and strong of wrist. At length Philip wounded his opponent slightly in the left breast, and the seconds came forward to declare that honour was satisfied. But neither would listen or heed; their purpose was fixed to fight to the death. They engaged again, and almost at once the Frenchman was slightly wounded in the wrist. Suddenly taking the offensive and lunging freely, Grandjon-Larisse drove Philip, now heated and less wary, backwards upon the wall. At last, by a dexterous feint, he beat aside Philip’s guard and drove the sword through his right breast at one fierce lunge.
With a moan Philip swayed and fell forward into the arms of Damour, still grasping his weapon. Grandjon-Larisse stooped to the injured man. Unloosing his fingers from the sword, Philip stretched up a hand to his enemy.
“I am hurt to death,” he said. “Permit my compliments to the best swordsman I have ever known.” Then with a touch of sorry humour he added: “You cannot doubt their sincerity.”
Grandjon-Larisse was turning away when Philip called him back. “Will you carry my profound regret to the Countess Chantavoine?” he whispered. “Say that it lies with her whether Heaven pardon me.”
Grandjon-Larisse hesitated an instant, then answered: