Meanwhile the intruder, instead of being the aggressor, was defending himself against the flashing blade of the infuriated lover. Too proud to call for aid, the youth opposed to the lover found himself outmatched before the skill and fire of the other. So thinking caution better than valor, he flung his sword at the feet of the lover. The latter, picking it up by the middle, returned it to his opponent with a low bow of utmost grace. Then with one hand on his hip and the other holding his sword, he addressed the youth.
“Thy name?”
“Catzu Toro. And thine?”
“Too insignificant to be spoken before one who bears so great a name as thine,” returned the other, bowing with satirical grace.
“How is that?” cried Catzu Toro—“insignificant? What, one in thy garb and with thy skill of swordsmanship?”
The victorious one, shrugging his shoulders imperceptibly, again bowed with a smile of disclaimer.
“May I be permitted,” he said, “to put one question to you, my lord, and then I am perfectly prepared to give myself up to your father’s guards, though not, I promise you, without a struggle, which I doubt not your vassals will long remember.” And he blithely bent the blade of his sword with his two hands.
“Nay, then,” cried the youth, impetuously, “You do me injustice. I am ready to swear protection to one who has acted so bravely as thou. But a question for a question, is not that fair?”
“Assuredly.”
“Very well, then. You serve the Prince of Mori?”