He did not finish the sentence, but saluting, he assumed an attitude a
little more wary than usual. He bent his knees a trifle lower, and held
his left shoulder somewhat more advanced, as compared with his right.
The foils felt one another, and "Oh, va, va!" he muttered. "I
understand, the droll!"

For half a minute or so the faces of the onlookers reflected only a
mild surprise, mingled with curiosity. But the fencers had done little
more than feel one another's blades, they had certainly not exchanged
more than half a dozen serious passes, before this was changed, before
one face grew longer and another more intent. A man who was no fencer,
and therefore no judge, spoke. A fierce oath silenced him. Another
murmured an exclamation under his breath. A third stooped low with his
hands on his hips that he might not lose a lunge or a parry. For
Payton, his face became slowly a dull red. At length, "Ha!" cried one,
drawing in his breath. And he was right. The Maitre d'Armes' button,
sliding under the Colonel's blade, had touched his opponent. At once,
Lemoine sprang back out of danger, the two points dropped, the two
fencers stood back to take breath.

For a few seconds the Colonel's chagrin was plain. He looked, and was,
disappointed. Then he conquered the feeling, and he smiled. "I fear you
are too strong for me," he said.

"Not at all," the Frenchman made answer. "Not at all! It was fortune,
sare. I know not what you were with your right hand, but you are with
the left vare strong, of the first force. It is certain."

Payton, an expert, had been among the earliest to discern, with as much
astonishment as mortification, the Colonel's skill. With a sudden
sinking of the heart, he had foreseen the figure he would cut if
Lemoine were worsted; he had endured a moment of great fear. But at
this success he choked down his apprehensions, and, a sanguine man, he
breathed again. One more hit, one more success on Lemoine's part, and
he had won the wager! But with all he could do he could no longer bear
himself carelessly. Pallid and troubled, he watched, biting his lip;
and though he longed to say something cutting, he could think of
nothing. Nay, if it came to that, he could not trust his voice, and
while he still faltered, seeking for a gibe and finding none, the two
combatants had crossed their foils again. Their tense features, plain
through the masks, as well as their wary movements, made it clear that
they played for