At last the young gentleman took his departure, mopping himself with a fine kerchief that left a trail of perfume on the air. M. des Amis closed the door, and turned to the applicant, who rose at once.
“Where have you studied?” quoth the fencing-master abruptly.
“Studied?” Andre-Louis was taken aback by the question. “Oh, at Louis Le Grand.”
M. des Amis frowned, looking up sharply as if to see whether his applicant was taking the liberty of amusing himself.
“In Heaven’s name! I am not asking you where you did your humanities, but in what academy you studied fencing.”
“Oh—fencing!” It had hardly ever occurred to Andre-Louis that the sword ranked seriously as a study. “I never studied it very much. I had some lessons in... in the country once.”
The master’s eyebrows went up. “But then?” he cried. “Why trouble to come up two flights of stairs?” He was impatient.
“The notice does not demand a high degree of proficiency. If I am not proficient enough, yet knowing the rudiments I can easily improve. I learn most things readily,” Andre-Louis commended himself. “For the rest: I possess the other qualifications. I am young, as you observe: and I leave you to judge whether I am wrong in assuming that my address is good. I am by profession a man of the robe, though I realize that the motto here is cedat toga armis.”
M. des Amis smiled approvingly. Undoubtedly the young man had a good address, and a certain readiness of wit, it would appear. He ran a critical eye over his physical points. “What is your name?” he asked.
Andre-Louis hesitated a moment. “Andre-Louis,” he said.