"But, at least, do you know how to fight?" cried M. Dubois, a prey to the greatest anxiety.
"You are joking," said he, laughing. "Of what use would be the five-and-twenty years' war that France has had, if her sons had not learnt to fight? But make yourself easy," added he, seriously, "I have had eighteen months' instruction in sword exercise, and learned to wield the sabre like a hussar; moreover, we artists know this sort of thing by instinct."
Meanwhile, the captain had also alighted, after having ordered his troop to remain spectators of the combat. The horsemen had shaken their heads; they had, however, not made any remark, but the old sergeant, of whom we have spoken, and who, without doubt, enjoyed certain liberties with his chief, took a few steps in advance, and thought proper to hazard a respectful protest.
The captain, without answering him, made him a mute gesture of a character so decided and imperious, that the worthy soldier stepped back quite snubbed, and resumed his former position without daring to risk a second remonstrance.
"Never mind," he grumbled, between his teeth, twirling his moustache with a furious air; "if this heretic gets the best of it, whatever Don Lucio may say, I know well what I shall do."
The young captain briskly alighted, and advanced towards his adversary, whom he saluted politely.
"I am fortunate," said he, graciously, "in the opportunity which presents itself of receiving from a Frenchman a lesson in fencing, for you have the reputation of being a complete master in arms."
"Eh! Perhaps what you say is more true than you think, Señor," answered the painter, with a smile of raillery; "but if service fails us sometimes, goodwill never forsakes us."
"I am convinced of it, Monsieur."
"Whenever you please to commence, Captain, I am at your orders."