ng the lead, pressed me
briskly, Matthew seconding him in appearance, while really watching
for an opportunity of running in and stabbing me at close quarters, a
manoeuvre I was not slow to detect.

That first bout lasted half a minute only. A fierce exultant joy ran
through me as the steel rang and grated, and I found that I had not
mistaken the strength of wrist or position. The men were mine. They
hampered one another on the stairs, and fought in fetters, being unable
to advance or retreat, to lunge with freedom, or give back without fear.
I apprehended greater danger from Matthew than from my actual opponent,
and presently, watching my opportunity, disarmed the latter by a strong
parade, and sweeping Matthew's sword aside by the same movement, slashed
him across the forehead; then, drawing back a step, gave my first
opponent the point. He fell in a heap on the floor, as good as dead,
and Matthew, dropping his sword, staggered backwards and downwards into
Fresnoy's arms.

'Bonne Foi! France et Bonne Foi!' It seemed to me that I bad not spoken,
that I had plied steel in grimmest silence; and yet the cry still rang
and echoed in the roof as I lowered my point, and stood looking grimly
down at them. Fresnoy's face was disfigured with rage and chagrin. They
were now but two to one, for Matthew, though his wound was slight, was
disabled by the blood which ran down into his eyes and blinded him.
'France et Bonne Foi!'

'Bonne Foi and good sword!' cried a voice behind me. And looking swiftly
round, I saw mademoiselle's face thrust through the hole in the door.
Her eyes sparkled with a fierce light, her lips were red beyond the
ordinary, and her hair, loosened and thrown into disorder by her
exertions, fell in thick masses about her white cheeks, and gave her the
aspect of a war-witch, such as they tell of in my country of Brittany.
'Good sword!' she cried again, and clapped her hands.

'But better board, mademoiselle!' I answered gaily. Like most of the
men of my province, I am commonly melancholic, but I have the habit of
growing witty at such times as these. 'Now, M. Fresnoy,' I continued,
'I am waiting your convenience. Must I put on my cloak to keep myself
warm?'

He answered by a curse, and stood looking at me irresolutely. 'If you
will come down,' he said.

'Send your man away and I will come,' I answered briskly. 'There
is space on the landing, and a moderate light. But I must be quick.
Mademoiselle and I are