Adrian made no answer, but lifted his sword.
“One moment, young gentleman,” went on Ramiro, drawing his own weapon and putting himself on guard; “are you in earnest? Do you really wish to fight?”
“Yes,” answered Adrian.
“What a fool you must be,” mused Ramiro. “Why at your age should you seek to be rid of life, seeing that you have no more chance against me than a rat in a corner against a terrier dog? Look!” and suddenly he lunged most viciously straight at his heart. But Adrian was watching and parried the thrust.
“Ah!” continued Ramiro, “I knew you would do that, otherwise I should not have let fly, for all the angels know I do not wish to hurt you.” But to himself he added, “The lad is more dangerous than I thought—my life hangs on it. The old fault, friend, too high, too high!”
Then Adrian came at him like a tiger, and for the next thirty seconds nothing was heard in the room but the raspings of steel and the hard breathing of the two men.
At first Adrian had somewhat the better of it, for his assault was fierce, and he forced the older and cooler man to be satisfied with guarding himself. He did more indeed, for presently thrusting over Ramiro’s guard, he wounded him slightly in the left arm. The sting of his hurt seemed to stir Ramiro’s blood; at any rate he changed his tactics and began to attack in turn. Now, moreover, his skill and seasoned strength came to his aid; slowly but surely Adrian was driven back before him till his retreat in the narrow confines of the room became continuous. Suddenly, half from exhaustion and half because of a stumble, he reeled right across it, to the further wall indeed. With a guttural sound of triumph Ramiro sprang after him to make an end of him while his guard was down, caught his foot on a joined stool which had been overset in the struggle, and fell prone to the ground.
This was Adrian’s chance. In an instant he was on him and had the point of his rapier at his throat. But he did not stab at once, not from any compunction, but because he wished his enemy to feel a little before he died, for, like all his race, Adrian could be vindictive and bloodthirsty enough when his hate was roused. Rapidly Ramiro considered the position. In a physical sense he was helpless, for Adrian had one foot upon his breast, the other upon his sword-arm, and the steel at his throat. Therefore if time were given him he must trust to his wit.
“Make ready, you are about to die,” said Adrian.
“I think not,” replied the prostrate Ramiro.