and the moment after we were
clinking glasses, and chatting as familiarly as if we had been friends
of forty years' standing.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

During the next three days the enrolment continued, and the canvass was
kept up with energy. The election was to take place on the evening of
the fourth.

Meanwhile my dislike for my rival had been strengthened by closer
observation; and, as is general in such cases, the feeling was
reciprocal.

On the afternoon of the day in question we stood before each other, foil
in hand, both of us nerved by an intense, though as yet _unspoken_,
enmity. This had been observed by most of the spectators, who
approached and formed a circle around us; all of them highly interested
in the result--which, they knew, would be an index to the election.

The room was an armoury, and all kinds of weapons for military practice
were kept in it. Each had helped himself to his foil. One of the
weapons was without a button, and sharp enough to be dangerous in the
hands of an angry man. I noticed that my antagonist had chosen this
one.

"Your foil is not in order; it has lost the button, has it not?" I
observed.

"Ah! monsieur, pardon. I did not perceive that."

"A strange oversight," muttered Clayley, with a significant glance.

The Frenchman returned the imperfect foil, and took another.

"Have you a choice, monsieur?" I inquired.

"No, thank you; I am satisfied."

By this time every person in the rendezvous had come up, and waited with
breathless anxiety. We stood face to face, more like two men about to
engage in deadly duel than a pair of amateurs with blunt foils. My
antagonist was evidently a practised swordsman. I could see that as he
came to guard. As for myself, the small-sword exercise had been a
foible of my college days, and for years I had not met my match at it;
but just then I was out of practice.

We commenced unsteadily. Both were excited by unusual emotions, and our
first thrusts were neither skilfully aimed nor parried. We fenced with
the energy of anger, and the sparks crackled from the friction of the
grazing steel. For several minutes it was a doubtful contest; but I
grew cooler every instant, while a slight advantage I had gained
irritated my adversary. At length, by a lucky hit, I succeeded in
planting the button of my foil upon his cheek. A cheer greeted this,
and I could hear the voice of Li