"Draw, caitiff! Defend yourself, if you don't want me to kill you in
cold blood!"
"Ha-ha-ha!" laughed the other, lightly and satirically. "It's just
because I don't want to kill _you_ in cold blood that I hesitate baring
my blade."
"A subterfuge--a lie!" shouted the youth, stung to madness by the
implied taunt of his inferiority. "Do your best and worst. Draw,
sirrah, or I'll run you through. Draw, I say!"
"Oh, don't be in such a hurry. If I must I must, and, to oblige you,
will, though it dislikes me to do murder--all the more that you've a
spark of spirit. But--"
"Do it if you can," interrupted the Cavalier, unheeding the compliment.
"I've no fear of your murdering _me_. Maybe the boot will be on the
other leg."
Again that strange expression came over the face of the older man,
half-admiration, half-compassion, with a scarce discernible element of
anger in it. Even yet he appeared reluctant to draw his sword, and only
did so when the opprobrious epithet _Lache_--for the Cavaliers spoke a
smattering of French--was flung into his teeth by his now furious
antagonist. At this, unsheathing, he called out,--
"Your blood be on your own head. To guard!"
"For God and the King!" cried the challenger, as he tightened grasp on
hilt and rein, setting himself firmly in the saddle.
"For God and the People!" followed the response antagonistic.
A prick of the spur by both, a bound forward, and their blades crossed
with a clash, their horses shoulder to shoulder. But on the instant of
engaging, that of the Cavalier, frayed by the clink of the steel and its
flash in the dazzling sunlight, reared up, pivoting round to the right.
This brought his rider left side to his antagonist, giving the latter an
advantage: and so decided, it seemed as though he could bring the affair
to an end at the moment of commencement. For his own better-trained
steed had stood ground, and wanted only another touch of the spur to
carry him close enough for commanding the bridle arm of his adversary,
and all under it, when with a lunge he might thrust him through. Surely
he could have done this! Yet neither spur nor sword were so exerted.
Instead, he sat quietly in his saddle, as if waiting for his adversary
to recover himself! Which the latter soon did, wheeling short round,
and again furiously engaging; by a second misconception, unaware of the
mercy shown him. This time as they came to the "engage" the Cavalier's
horse behaved better, standing ground till several thrusts and parades
were exchanged between them. Clearly the silk-clad youth was no novice
at fencing, but as clearly the other was a master of it, and equally
accomplished as a horseman; his horse, too, so disciplined as to give
him little bother with the bridle. A spectator, if a connoisseur in the
_art d'escrime_, could have told how the combat would end--must end--
unless some accident favoured the younger combatant. As it was, even
the Fates seemed against him, his horse again rearing _en pirouette_,
and to the wrong side, placing him once more at the mercy of his
antagonist. And again the latter scorned, or declined, taking advantage
of it!
When the angry youth for the third time confronted him, it was with less
fury in his look, and a lowered confidence in his skill. For now he not
only knew his own inferiority as a swordsman, but was troubled with an
indistinct perception of the other's generosity. Not clear enough,
however, to restrain him from another trial; and their swords came
together in a third crossing.
This time the play was short, almost as at the first. Having engaged
the Cavalier's blade in _carte_, and bound it, the self-proclaimed
Republican with a quick _flanconnade_ plunged the point of his own
straight for his adversary's wrist. Like the protruded tongue of a
serpent, it went glistening into the white gauntlet, which instantly
showed a spot of red, with blood spurting out; while the rapier of the
Cavalier, struck from his grasp, flew off, and fell with a ring upon the
road.