promise have I," said Maurice, "that you will not run me through
when I stoop for the sword?" This question did not serve.

Beauvais laughed. "I never get angry in moments like these. I am giving
you a sword to ease my conscience. I do not assassinate boys."

"But supposing I should kill you by chance?"

Beauvais laughed again. "That is not possible."

Maurice had faced death before, but with more confidence. The thought
that he had poked his head into a trap stirred him disagreeably. He saw
that Beauvais possessed a superabundance of confidence, and confidence
is half of any battle. He picked up the sword and held it between his
knees, while he threw off his coat and vest, and unbuttoned his collar
and cuffs. What he had to sell would be sold as dearly as possible. He
tested the blade, took in a deep breath, fell easily into position--and
waited.

CHAPTER XVII. SOME PASSAGES AT ARMS

There comes a moment to every man, who faces an imminent danger, when
the mental vision expands and he sees beyond. By this transient gift of
prescience he knows what the end will be, whether he is to live or die.
As Maurice looked into the merciless eyes of his enemy, a dim knowledge
came to him that this was to be an event and not a catastrophe, a
fragment of a picture yet to be fully drawn. His confidence and courage
returned. He thanked God, however, that the light above equalized their
positions, and that the shadows were behind them.

The swords came together with a click light but ominous. Immediately
Beauvais stepped back, suddenly threw forward his body, and delivered
three rapid thrusts. Maurice met them firmly, giving none.

"Ah!" cried Beauvais; "that is good. You know a little. There will be
sport, besides."

Maurice shut his lips the tighter, and worked purely on the defensive.
His fencing master had taught him two things, silence and watchfulness.
While Beauvais made use of his forearm, Maurice as yet depended solely
on his wrist. Once they came together, guard to guard, neither daring
to break away until by mutual agreement, spoken only by the eyes, both
leaped backward out of reach. There was no sound save the quick light
stamp of feet and the angry murmur of steel scraping against steel.
Sometimes they moved circlewise, with free blades, waiting and watching.
Up to now Beauvais's play had been by the book, so to speak, and he
began to see that his opponent was well read.

"Which side is the pretty rose?"