"You will be a great fool," said I, as he approached with his sword drawn; "for if you are taken alive my intervention will save your neck."
"How do you know it will?"
"By the fact that the gentleman down there whose fighting you so admire is my father."
"Indeed? You are a gentleman: do you give your word of honour for that?"
"Yes; and to speak for you if I am alive when your side is finally defeated."
"Very good, Monsieur. I will hold you to that." Upon this he left me and followed his comrades down the stairs.
His footfalls had scarcely ceased upon the stairway, when other sounds began to come from the same direction,—those of conflict in the entrance hall below. Somebody had drawn his antagonist, or been forced by him, into the house. There was the quick, irregular stamp of booted feet on the stone floor, the keen music of sword striking sword. If the fight spread generally into the house, and the defenders fled to the upper rooms, my position must become more critical. So I listened rather to this noise in the hallway than to the tumult in the court-yard. By the sound of the steel coming nearer, and that of the footfalls changing somewhat, I presently knew that one of the fighters had sought the vantage—or disadvantage—of the staircase. But the other evidently pushed him hard, for soon both combatants had reached the landing at the turn of the stairs, as was manifest from a sudden increase of their noise in my ears. I could now hear their short ejaculations as well as the other sounds. They continued to approach: I listened for a stumble on the stairs, to be followed by a death-cry: but these men were apparently heedful as to their steps, and finally they were both upon the level footing of the passage outside my room. I wondered if this fight would be over before it could be opposite my doorway. In a few moments I was answered. Into my narrow view came the large figure of the red Captain, without a doublet, his muscular arms bare, his shirt open and soaked with perspiration, his upper body heaving rapidly as he breathed, his face streaming, his eyes fixed upon the enemy whose swift rapier he parried with wonderful skill. The light of evening was dim in the passage, and perhaps for that reason the Captain backed into my room. His adversary followed instantly.
"Father!" I cried, as the Sieur de la Tournoire appeared in the doorway: in my emotion I thought not how I endangered him by distracting his attention.
But he was not to be thrown off his guard. He moved his head a little to the side, so as to catch a glimpse of me behind the Captain, but this did not prevent his adroitly turning a quick thrust which his enemy made on the instant of my cry.
"Hola, Henri!" said my father, with perfect calmness except for his quickness of breath. "What the devil are you doing here?"