Profiting by the lesson of Dorislas' rashness the governor of the Citadel commenced in a spirit of coolness and watchfulness,—a spirit that quickly evaporated when he found himself met at every point. He gave more trouble than his predecessors, but in the end Paul succeeded in twisting the weapon from his hand.
Zabern's pleasure increased.
"Good luck, not science," cried Miroslav, hotly, "I defy you to repeat that trick, Captain Woodville. I must have a second bout."
This demand was not allowed by Zabern, though Paul himself good-naturedly offered to grant it.
"Miroslav seems in savage mood to-day," whispered a fair lady to the cavalier who was bending over her.
"He suffered a prisoner to escape yesterday," replied her partner, "and as a consequence he had a mauvais quart d'heure with the princess this morning. Hinc illæ lacrimæ."
"Captain Woodville ought now to give his arm a rest," cried Katina.
But Paul, perceiving the favorable impression that he was making, expressed his readiness to proceed without delay.
"I am now to be your opponent," said Zabern, taking up a fencing-blade in his left and only hand, "and I warn you, Captain Woodville, to be careful."
This caution was not without its need. Zabern was considered by those best qualified to judge the second swordsman in Czernova, and Paul quickly found that he had met an opponent nearly equal, if not equal, to himself. The marshal had an arm of steel; as a warrior who had faced the charge of bayonets on many a battle-field he was not likely to become nervous in a mock-contest. Cool and wary, after a few preliminary passes designed to test the other's skill, Zabern seemed content to remain for the most part on the defensive, watching his opportunity. Paul, conscious of the marshal's dexterity, was disposed to do the same; and hence this fourth bout appeared somewhat tame when contrasted with the spirited and dashing style of the preceding contests. It promised to prove indefinitely long, till on a sudden Zabern cried,—