“Equal?” roared Gaubert. “Your longer reach is an advantage that you had from God, his longer sword is one he had from an armourer. Is that equality?”
“He may have my sword, and I’ll take his,” cut in the Italian, also showing impatience. “I too am in haste.”
“In haste to die, then,” snapped Gaubert.
“Monsieur, this is not seemly,” Courthon reproved him.
“You shall teach me manners when we engage,” snapped the hawk-faced gentleman.
“Sirs, sirs,” Garnache implored them, “are we to waste the day in words? Monsieur Gaubert, there are several gentlemen yonder wearing swords; I make no doubt that you will find one whose blade is of the same length as your own, sufficiently obliging to lend it to Monsieur Sanguinetti.”
“That is an office that my friend can do for me,” interposed Sanguinetti, and thereupon Courthon departed, to return presently with a borrowed weapon of the proper length.
At last it seemed that they might proceed with the business upon which they were come; but Garnache was wrong in so supposing. A discussion now arose between Gaubert and Courthon as to the choice of spot. The turf was drenched and slippery, and for all that they moved from place to place testing the ground, their principals following, nowhere could they find the conditions sufficiently improved to decide upon engaging. To Garnache the utility of this was apparent from the first. If these gentlemen had thought to avoid slippery ground, they should have elected to appoint the meeting elsewhere. But having chosen the Champs aux Capuchins, it was idle to expect that one stretch of turf would prove firmer than another.
Wearied at last by this delay, he gave expression to his thoughts.
“You are quite right, monsieur,” said Courthon. “But your second is over-fastidious. It would simplify matters so much if you would remove your boots.”