of despair and wrath. It was now almost a mêlée corps à corps, but the Chevalier would not give way. He had penned André to the place he desired and he meant to keep him there. “Holà! Je touche!” he cried. 

How had it happened? One of the torches had gone out in a puff of air, André’s sword was on the stones and the Chevalier had his foot on it. By an infernal Italian trick he had dropped on one knee, the lunge that should have gone through his heart had passed over his head and by some superhuman secret he had twisted the weapon from his opponent’s grasp. Yes, André had lost Denise and death was upon him. 

With a quick gesture the Chevalier pitched the sword over the wall and stood sword in hand facing the defenceless André. The breeze stirred his dainty love locks. “Monsieur le Vicomte,” he said cheerfully, “will perhaps permit me now to return to the château. I have had my lesson.” André clenched his fists sullenly. “Toinette,” the young man called, dropping his point, “Toinette, bring another torch, and assist Monsieur le Vicomte with his coat. You are a good wench, Toinette, and a discreet, is it not so?”“Curse your Italian tricks,” André growled, “curse you and your Italian tricks.”

“Yes, it was a trick, learned in Italy from a great master in the art. But all is fair in war--and in love! I did not wish to be killed and you are too good a swordsman for any one to beat in half an hour, and that is all I had. Come, Vicomte, we have had our little encounter. Can we not be friends?” He offered his hand.

André stared sulkily, yet feeling somewhat ashamed.

“I am not going to the château,” the Chevalier added quietly. “I, too, am going to the war with my master and yours, the King. If it will satisfy you, I will promise not to speak to Mademoiselle the Marquise de Beau Séjour until we both return.”

“You can do as you please with regard to Mademoiselle la Marquise,” André said sharply.

“And will you do me a favour?” the young man pleaded. “I beg you that for the future you will not speak of our meeting here to any one.”

“Why?”

“Simply because I regret now that I prevented myself from being killed by a low trick. Life to the young is sweet--it is my sole excuse to a better swordsman than myself.”

“Very well,” André answered, touched to the quick by the faultless delicacy with which the compliment 

 Prev. P 32/227 next