"You interest me," he said. "I have a penchant for mysteries. May I ask
why you believe I shall give it to you?"
"I shall try to show you," I said, and tossed aside my coat and drew my
small sword.
He stood rigid and motionless, and his face became more set and
expressionless than I had ever seen it; but before he could speak,
Mademoiselle had sprung between us.
"You fool!" she cried. "Put up your sword. Will you not be quiet as I
told you?"
"Be seated, Mademoiselle," said my father gently. "Where are your senses,
Henry? Can you not manage without creating a scene? Put up your sword. I
cannot draw against you."
Mademoiselle, paler than I had seen her before, sank back into her chair.
"I am sorry you find yourself unable," I said, "because I shall attack
you in any event."
"What can you be thinking of?" my father remonstrated. "Engage me with a
small sword? It is incredible."
"I have been waiting almost twelve hours for the opportunity," I replied.
"Pray put yourself on guard, father."
His stony look of repression had left him. The lines about his mouth
relaxed again. For a moment I thought the gaze he bent upon me was almost
kindly. Then he sighed and shrugged his shoulders, and began slowly to
unwind a handkerchief which he had tied about his right hand, disclosing
several cuts on his knuckles.
"I forgot that Captain Tracy might have teeth," he said. "Positively, my
son, you become disappointing. I had given you credit for more
imagination, and instead you think you can match your sword against mine.
Pray do not interrupt, Mademoiselle," he added, turning to her with a
bow, "it will be quite nothing, and we have neither of us had much
exercise."
He paused, and carefully divested himself of his coat, folding it neatly,
and placing it on the table. When it was placed to advantage, he drew his
sword, and tested its point on the floor.
"Who knows," he added, bending the blade, "perhaps we may have sport
after all. Lawton was never bad with the foils."
We had only crossed swords long enough for me to feel the supple play
of his wrist before I began to press him. I feinted, and disengaged,
and a second later I had lunged over his guard, and had forced him to
give back.
"Mon Dieu!" exclaimed my father gaily. "You surprise me. What! Again?
Damn these chairs!"
A fire of exultation leapt through me. I grinned at my father over the
crossed blades, for I could read something in his face that steadied my
hand. My best attack might leave him unscathed, but I was doing more,
much more, than he had expected. I lunged again, and again he stepped
back, thrusting so quickly that I had barely time to recover.
"Excellent!" said my father. "You are quick, my son. You even have an
eye."
"Mademoiselle!" I called sharply. "The paper! In the breast pocket of his
coat. Take it out and burn it."
"Good God!" exclaimed my father.
"You see," I said, "I have my points."
"My son," he said, parrying the thrust with which I ended my last words,
"pray accept my apologies, and my congratulations. You have a better mind
and a better sword than I could reasonably have expected. Indeed, you
quite make me extend myself. But you must learn to recover more quickly,
Henry, much more quickly. I have seen too many good men go down for just
that failing. It may be well enough against an ordinary swordsman, my
son, or even a moderately good one, but as for me, I could run you
through twice over. Indeed I would, if--"
"The paper, Mademoiselle," I called again. "Have you got it?"
"Exactly," said my father. "The paper. If the paper were in my pocket,
you, my son, would now be in the surgeon's hands. The paper, however, is
upstairs in my volume of Rabelais. And now--"
His wrist suddenly stiffened. He made a feint at my throat, and in the
same motion lowered his guard. As I came on parade, my sword was wrenched
from my grasp. At the same time I stepped past his point, and seized him
around the waist.
"You heard, Mademoiselle," I cried. "The door!" and we fell together.
My father uttered something which seemed very near a curse, and clutched
at my throat. I loosened my grasp to fend away his hand, and he broke
away from my other arm, and sprang to his feet. Just as he did so there
was a blow, a splintering of wood. The door was carried off its hinges,
and Brutus leapt beside him. The floor had not been clean. My father
brushed regretfully at the smudges on his cambric shirt.
"My coat, if you please, Mademoiselle," he said. "I see you have it in
your hands. Gad, my son! It was a nearer thing than I expected. On my
word, I did not know that Brutus was back."
"He is like you, captain," said Mademoiselle, handing the coat to him.
"You are both stubborn."
For some reason I could not fathom, her good nature had returned. It was
relief, perhaps, that made her smile at us.
"It is a family trait," returned my father.
As though kicking down the door had been a simple household duty, Brutus
turned from it with quiet passivity, and adjusted the folds of the blue
broadcloth with an equal thoroughness, while my father straightened the
lace at his wrists.
"Huh," said Brutus suddenly. Then I noticed that his stockings were caked
with river mud, and that he had evidently been running. My father,
forgetful of his coat for the moment, whirled about and faced him.
"To think I had forgotten," he cried. "What news, you black rascal?"
"Huh," said Brutus again, and handed him a spotted slip of paper. My
father's lips parted. He seized it with unusual alacrity, read it, and
tossed it in the fire. Then he sighed, like a man from whose mind a heavy
weight of care has been lifted. The tenseness seemed to leave his slim
figure, and for an instant he looked as though the day had tired him, and
as though another crisis were over.
"He's there?" he demanded sharply.
"Huh," said Brutus.
"Now heaven be praised for that," said my father, with something that was
a close approach to fervor. "I was beginning to wonder if, perhaps,
something had happened."
Mademoiselle looked up at him demurely.
"The captain has good news?" she asked.
He turned to her and smiled his blandest smile.
"Under the circumstances," he said, "the best I could expect."
Still smiling, he smoothed his coat and squared his shoulders.
"Our little melodrama, my lady, is drawing to its close."