My blood!
The Painter.
Without doubt! Merci. (Takes back his sword.) Just one tap upon the breast. Yet in case you wish that I spare the waistcoat?
The Marshal.
By no means! That would be too much loss of blood!
The Painter.
Just as you please. (He moves the easel and table to one side. Softly.) And make no mistake, the door will open at the first clash of blades.
The Marshal.
Are you ready?
(The Painter nods assent. They fence.)