For a moment the two men stood looking at each other.
Tournay was the first to speak: "You will fight me for that blow, Monsieur de Lacheville."
The marquis gave a harsh laugh: "We do not fight lackeys—we whip them."
"We are alone, and man to man you shall fight me with my weapons, monsieur le Marquis." Tournay spoke with a certain air of dignity and with a suppressed fierceness that made the marquis draw back; yet such was the nobleman's contempt for the man of humble birth that he made no response beyond flicking the whip which he still retained in his hand, and looking at him disdainfully.
"You have a hunting-knife at your side; arm yourself," commanded Tournay sternly, at the same time drawing from beneath his hunting-blouse a long, keen blade.
The marquis turned pale. "I do not fight with such a weapon," he faltered, looking about him as if in hopes of succor from his friends.
"Then for once the low-born has the advantage," replied Tournay pitilessly, "and unless Heaven intervenes, I shall kill you for that blow."
The blow itself was forgotten even as he spoke, and he felt a fierce joy as he whispered to himself, "If heaven so wills it, you shall never marry her, Marquis de Lacheville."
There was no fire of revenge in his eyes as he advanced, but the marquis saw the light that burned there and, realizing his pressing danger, drew his own hunting-knife.
There was a thrust and parry. Tournay closed in upon him, and the nobleman fell backward with a groan.