“What promise have I,” said Maurice, “that you will not run me through when I stoop for the sword?” This question did not serve.
Beauvais laughed. “I never get angry in moments like these. I am giving you a sword to ease my conscience. I do not assassinate boys.”
“But supposing I should kill you by chance?”
Beauvais laughed again. “That is not possible.”
Maurice had faced death before, but with more confidence. The thought that he had poked his head into a trap stirred him disagreeably. He saw that Beauvais possessed a superabundance of confidence, and confidence is half of any battle. He picked up the sword and held it between his knees, while he threw off his coat and vest, and unbuttoned his collar and cuffs. What he had to sell would be sold as dearly as possible. He tested the blade, took in a deep breath, fell easily into position—and waited.
CHAPTER XVII. SOME PASSAGES AT ARMS
There comes a moment to every man, who faces an imminent danger, when the mental vision expands and he sees beyond. By this transient gift of prescience he knows what the end will be, whether he is to live or die. As Maurice looked into the merciless eyes of his enemy, a dim knowledge came to him that this was to be an event and not a catastrophe, a fragment of a picture yet to be fully drawn. His confidence and courage returned. He thanked God, however, that the light above equalized their positions, and that the shadows were behind them.
The swords came together with a click light but ominous. Immediately Beauvais stepped back, suddenly threw forward his body, and delivered three rapid thrusts. Maurice met them firmly, giving none.
“Ah!” cried Beauvais; “that is good. You know a little. There will be sport, besides.”