There was nothing especially graceful about my senior Aide; and, besides being past the prime of life, he was of a rather bulky tallness, stolid and phlegmatic. I could readily imagine his style, and a very few passes confirmed it. He was of the ordinary type and I could have run him through without the least effort. As it was, I touched him, presently, once on each arm—then disengaged and saluted.
"I thank Your Highness," he said; "it could just as well have been my heart and throat a dozen times."
"I am younger and more active," I explained.
But he smiled it down. "I am not sensitive, sir. Besides, it gives me joy."
I supposed he was thinking of Lotzen.
After a short rest, Moore and I faced each other.
"Let us cut the parades," I said—and Bernheim gave the word to engage.
Without conceit I can say that I am more than moderately skillful with the sword. It is, possibly, the one hobby of my life. My father and grandfather before me were strong fencers, and one of my earliest recollections is being given a toy foil and put through the parades. There is a saying that "a swordsman is born not made," and it is a true one. But, unless there is hard study and training from childhood, the birth gift is wasted and there is only a made-fencer in the end. My good sire had appreciated this fact, and not only gave me the best instructors obtainable in America, but, in my second year's vacation from "The Point," he took me to Paris and kept me hard at work under the best French maïtres. From that time on, I had practiced assiduously, and spending all my leaves in Europe and fencing in all the best schools of the Continent.
Our blades had little more than crossed when I knew that it would take all my skill to hold my own, even for a short time. Moore was, far and away, the best fencer I had ever encountered; and I thought I had faced about all the famous ones of first force. His agility was amazing; his wrist like steel; his anticipation masterly. For every time I touched him, he touched me twice; though none, on either side, would have been more than a scratch. Then, in the midst of a fierce rally, I forced a pretty opening and I thrust. No guard seemed possible—it was a sure coeur. The next instant, there came a wrench, that almost tore off my fingers, and my foil flew across the room. Moore had led me into the final position of Lotzen's attack, and had disarmed me exactly as he had the Duke.
I held out my left hand to him—the right still tingled.