'In a proper cause—yes,' replied Baronald, surprised by the question.
'And can cover yourself well?' continued Morganstjern, making a half-mock lunge which the other—with the quickness of lightning—parried by his sword which he instantly drew.
'I can cover myself, as you shall see,' he exclaimed; and they began to fence in jest apparently, while the Heer looked approvingly on, and said with a laugh and an oath:
'Now we shall see who is the better ruffler of the two.'
And the Heer, who bore Lewie no goodwill for the coldness of his demeanour and the general hauteur he manifested towards him, looked as if he would very much have relished to draw his old hanger and engage in the perilous sport too—for perilous it was, with keen-edged and sharply-pointed straight-bladed swords.
The Heer van Schrekhorn was everyway an odious fellow—a lover of the fair sex, of schiedam and cards; but one who always avowed openly that liking for a woman was one thing, but love for her was another—and certes he knew nothing about it.
He loudly and bluntly applauded his friend's fencing.
'Appel now!' he exclaimed; 'quick—disengage to that side again! contract your arm—quick—dart a thrust right forward now!'
At that moment, as if in obedience to the suggestion, the point of Morganstjern's sword struck the gilded regimental gorget of Baronald, which was adorned with the Lion Rampant of the Netherlands.
'The devil!' he exclaimed; 'do you aim at my throat?'