“It will gratify me to meet your wishes,” said I, “in any further
arrangement which you may propose.”
_He._ “M. le Capitaine, you particularly oblige me by saying so; for the
business to which I now refer is one which personally affects you and
me. In the conference which I had the pleasure of holding with you
yesterday afternoon, you alluded to my parole in terms which affected my
honour. As I said then, so I say now: I cannot permit that.”
_I._ “Nothing could be further from my intention. Surely, in merely
reminding you of your parole, not saying you had broken it, and in
viewing it according to my own interpretation rather than yours, I did
nothing at which you can reasonably feel hurt.”
_He._ “Ha! you explain, but you do not apologise. M. le Capitaine,
though punctilious—nay, more than punctilious, chivalrous—I am not
implacable. One word of apology would——”
_I._ “Apology? What do you mean by apology? I tell you I intended no
offence; and I have nothing to retract. If I unintentionally wounded
your feelings, of course I regret it; but apology is out of the
question.”
_He._ “Precisely. That is just what I expected you to say. Then, M. le
Capitaine, there remains but one alternative. We had better decide this
little affair at once. (_Brings from a corner of the kitchen two
swords._) You really must oblige me.” (_Crosses the swords in his right
hand, bows, and presents the hilts._)
_I._ “If you insist upon it, of course I must. I never heard of anything
so absurd in my life!”
_He._ “Hold! Let me fasten the kitchen-door. That will prevent
interruption on the part of my countrymen, and also of yours.” (_He
fastens the door._)
_I._ “The door may serve to exclude your men, but it will not keep out
mine. No matter. They have already received orders to keep where they
are, till summoned by me.” We crossed our swords.
_He._ “Hold! Excuse me one moment, just while I take off that boiler.”
Again our swords crossed.
_He._ “Monsieur, the attack is with you.” (_Stamps._) “_Commencez
donc._” (_Stamps twice._) “Not bad, that lunge. Hold! your left shoulder
is a little too forward. Withdraw it _un petit peu_, if you please.
Capital, that thrust in quarte! You lunge better in quarte than in
tierce. I hope you enjoyed your dinner yesterday? Ah, you threw away
that _coup_. By keeping your point a trifle lower, you might have had me
just under the arm. I suppose the Padre was not in the best of humours?
You fence a little too wide. Better! Capital! Capital!”
Though acknowledged the best fencer in my regiment, I could make no
impression on M. le Tisanier. I therefore bowed, and stood on my guard.
“Ah,” said he, “now the attack is with me.”
The attack of M. le Tisanier was not only brilliant and energetic, but
in every respect formidable. With the arm of a Hercules, the eye of a
lynx, and the skip of a chimpanzee, he advanced, he retreated, he sidled
right and left, he got round me, till we had more than once perambulated
the whole circuit of the kitchen, and till I, in meeting him front to
front, had repeatedly faced the opposite points of the compass. Any one
practised in fence will understand, when I say that, even while I
succeeded in parrying every thrust, his attack was evidently _gaining_
upon me; that is, his movements in assault had become a little in
advance of mine in guard; and this advantage (most important, though in
point of time scarcely appreciable) he gradually went on improving as
the attack proceeded. In fact, nothing could be cleaner than his style
of operating. Even his wrist, though always in position, moved in a
larger area than his point, which played about my sword in a small
semicircle, like summer lightning.
At length, seeing an opportunity for which I had long watched, I raised
my blade by the same movement with which I parried a thrust in quarte,
and, ere he could recover himself, dropped it again so as just to touch
his hand. My object was to inflict a slight wound, and disarm him. I was
so far successful, that my point reached him, but with no visible
consequences. I had made the first hit, but without putting my opponent
_hors de combat_.
He sprang backwards with an angry growl, and for a few moments seemed to
be collecting his forces. Foreseeing the impetuosity of his renewed
assault, I prepared to give him a suitable reception; but, at the
instant when about to commence a repetition of his favours, he moved a
little to the right. This movement compelled on my part a corresponding
change of position, to effect which I slightly shifted my left foot. My
foot struck against something on the floor. I stumbled. Though just on
the point of springing forward, M. le Tisanier, who through this mishap
had me completely at his mercy, with a most winning bow immediately
dropped his point.
The cause of my tripping is easily explained. Sergeant Pegden, either
from having discovered, down in the cellar, that war had commenced over
his head, or from some other motive, was beginning to raise the
trap-door. I tripped against the edge. Stamping it down with my left
heel, as a sign for the sergeant to keep quiet, but not so as to attract
the notice of M. le Tisanier, who remained unconscious that my forces
were in such immediate proximity, I again put myself on guard, saying,
“My best acknowledgments are due for your forbearance. Whenever you wish
to proceed, I am ready.”
“A thousand thanks,” said M. le Tisanier, with a renewal of supple and
profound inflections. “I am satisfied.”
“Very well,” said I, extending my hand. “All things besides, then, can
be easily arranged.”
We tackled after the English fashion, and shook hands—an operation the
more sedulously sought on my part, from visible symptoms of preparation,
on the part of M. le Tisanier, for what in those days so frequently
terminated French duels—a hug.
The shake accomplished, I noticed something on my hand. It was blood.
“Is this yours, or mine?” I asked.
“Did I not tell you that I was satisfied?” said he. “My honour is
satisfied. Whether I am whipped through the body, or scratched on the
knuckle, what does it signify?”