"Try signs on him." she suggested.
"Good! I'll sign to him we want to see his face."
"How, pray?"
"By pulling off his mask," he answered--and put out his hand, as though
to do it. With his fingers almost on it, he paused.
I stood quite still. I felt perfectly sure he would not touch me; but,
if he did, I intended to knock him down. And I was not mistaken.
After a moment, he dropped his arm.
The woman laughed. "Your nerve failed--his didn't," she said dryly.
"Not at all, mademoiselle. I thought of a better way.--Observe."
He slowly drew the long narrow-bladed sword, that went with his
costume, and, taking the point in his left hand, bowed over it in mock
courtesy.
"Will monsieur have the extreme kindness to remove his mask," he said.
I admit I was a bit astonished. Surely, this was rushing things with a
vengeance--to deliberately raise a situation that meant either a fight
or a complete back-down by one of us. And, as he would scarcely
imagine I would do the latter, he must have intended to force a duel.
There might have been another reason, assuming that he was interested
only in my identity:--this procedure would have told him; for Moore
would not have dared draw sword on the Heir Presumptive. But I have
never thought such was his idea; for he must have been very well
satisfied, by this time, that none but an equal in rank would have
acted so toward him.
And, being convinced that it was I that fronted him, he had suddenly
seen an opportunity to accomplish in open fight what his hired assassin
had bungled. It is notorious that American officers know practically
nothing of the art of fence; what easier than to drive me into drawing
on him and, then, after a bit of play, to run me neatly through the
heart. What mattered it if he were the aggressor? It would be easy to
aver he had not known me--that I had chosen to insult him, and, having
refused to unmask and apologize, had suffered the consequences of my
own rashness and bad manners.
And, even suppose no one believed his story that he did not know me.
What mattered it? One does not execute the Heir Presumptive of Valeria
for murder. True, the King might rage--and a term of banishment to his
mountain estates might follow; yet, what trifling penalties for the end
attained. They would be only for the moment, as it were. But the
American would be dead--the Crown sure--the Princess still unmarried.
Truly, it was a chance which would never come again; and not to seize
it was to mock Fortune to her very face.
It takes far longer to write this than to think it. It all went
through my mind in the brief space Lotzen gave me for reply.
"I am waiting, monsieur," he said.
The Gypsy laughed softly.
"You tell him so much he already knows," said she.
Lotzen looked at her--in surprise, I doubt not.
"Mademoiselle is impatient," he remarked.
She shrugged her pretty shoulders.
Then he bowed again to me.
"You see, monsieur," he said, "you tire the Lady; I must ask you to
make haste."
If anyone think it easy to stand, stolidly, in one position for a
considerable period, and have impertinent things said to him the while,
let him try it. He will be very apt to change his notion. But, I
stuck to it; and my soldier training helped me--and the mask relieved
my face.
"You are stubborn, monsieur, as well as bad mannered. I shall have to
spur you, I see," he went on. "I ask you, once again, monsieur, to
remove your mask. If you do not, I shall give you a bit of steel in
the left leg."
"And, if that be ineffective?" the lady asked.
"Then, I shall touch him in the other leg--and, if he still refuses,
then, in the right arm--and, then, if necessary, in the left arm; each
time a trifle deeper."
"And, then----?" she inflected, very sweetly.
"Then?" he repeated. "I think there will be no need for a 'then,'
mademoiselle," he laughed sneeringly.
She nodded toward me.
"Isn't it about time to begin?" she asked.
"Your wish, my dear, is my law," he said. "You hear, monsieur; your
time is up--prepare."
He stepped forward and thrust, very slowly, at my thigh. Even then, I
could not think that he would actually dare to touch me with his sword;
and I made no motion. I proposed to call his bluff--if it were one.
Closer and closer, inch by inch, drew the point. It reached the
velvet--hesitated--passed through--and just pierced my flesh--then, was
withdrawn.
And, with that cut, came the blood-lust, like unto the rage of the
berserker of old. Yet, somehow, I had the sense to stand quiet and let
the red passion burn itself out. I would need all my coolness to meet
Lotzen's skill.
"Now, will monsieur remove his mask?" he asked.
"You scarcely touched him," scoffed the Gypsy.
Lotzen held up the sword.
"See the red upon the point?" he asked.
"Blood! You actually cut him!" she exclaimed--then pointed her finger
at me, derisively. "And you wear a sword!" she sneered.
It was pretty hard to take. But I had a notion, foolish, possibly, to
play the game a little longer.
"Come along, my friend," she went on. "This is poor sport. I hate a
coward."
For an instant, I feared he would heed her and go--and that would have
obliged me to become the aggressor; which I much preferred not to be.
"A coward!" he laughed--and looked at me. "You hear that, monsieur: a
coward." Then he put his hand on her arm. "You are quite right, my
dear, it is poor sport," he said. "Yet, stay a moment longer. I shall
forego the other cuts and tear off his mask, instead."
"And permit him to wear a sword?" she mocked. "Surely, not! Why don't
you break it?"
"A charming suggestion--thank you.--You hear my Lady's wish, Monsieur
le Coquin," he said to me, and presenting his blade at my breast.
"Will you yield your sword or shall I be obliged to take it from you?"
At last, Lotzen had driven me to action, in pointing his sword at my
breast. If he touched it my steel vest would be disclosed, at once;
and that was not to my mind. It would explain the failure of his
bravo's dagger. More than that I did not care for. Doubtless, he was
wearing one himself at that very moment. One usually ascribes to his
enemy methods similar to one's own--and, as Lotzen dealt in
assassination, he would expect me to do the same.
I waited a moment. Then, stepping quickly out of reach, I drew my own
sword.
"Here it is, my Lord," I said. "Which end will you take?"
"The only end that you can give me, monsieur--the hilt," was the answer.
"Come and get it, then," I drawled.
He turned to the Gypsy.
"Will mademoiselle pardon me," he said.
"Will you be long?" she asked.
"Only a moment. I'll make it very short."
"I'll wait," she said carelessly.
He bowed to her--and then faced me.
"Has Monsieur le Coquin any particular spot in which he prefers to
receive my point?" he asked.
"None, my Lord," I answered; "I shall leave that to your own good
taste."
"_Merci_, monsieur, _merci_!" he said, and saluted. "Yet, I may not be
outdone in generosity. Therefore, in exchange for your hilt, monsieur,
you shall have the whole length of my blade in your heart."
"That, my Lord, is on the Knees of the Gods," I said.
Then our swords fell to talking and our tongues were still.
[Illustration: Then our swords fell to talking in the garden of the
masked ball.]
The turf was free of brush or trees; and, as I have already said, the
illumination was so arranged that, practically, there were no shadows.
The Garden seemed almost as bright as day; indeed, save that the light
was white, we might, just as well, have been duelling at noon-tide as
at midnight.
It had not been hard to gather, from Lotzen's last remarks to his
companion, what sort of a fight he proposed making; and, after the
usual preliminary testing of strength, I contented myself with the
simplest sort of defence and awaited the main attack.
It seems hardly possible that two men could engage in a combat with
rapiers, at such an occasion, and not draw a crowd. There is something
peculiarly penetrating about the ring of steel on steel at night. Yet,
such was the extent of the grounds and, so retired was our locality,
that no strangers were attracted. Almost at the first stroke, however,
I heard exclamations from the direction of my companions. In a moment,
Courtney came running up, his drawn sword in hand--and the others after
him.
I had plenty of use for my eyes with the immediate business in hand;
but, as I chanced to be facing them, I had a vision of Courtney--his
mask off--leaning forward intently watching the fight. Then, he calmly
returned sword and drew back.
I heard the Marquise exclaim: "_Mon Dieu_! Someone is trying to kill
His Highness--we must save him!"
But Courtney clapped his hand over her mouth and silenced her. Even in
the press of the duel, I think, I smiled.
"Your pardon, my dear Marquise," he said, loudly--so I would hear it, I
knew--"His Highness needs no saving."
Then I heard no more--for the Duke assumed the offensive fiercely and
his sword began to move like lightning. And well, indeed, was it, for
me, that I had learned something of this gentle game of fence, else had
that night been my last on Earth.
Then, of a sudden, from out a sharp rally, came the first strokes of
Moore's _coup_. I had been expecting it. I steadied myself to meet
it, giving back just a trifle to lead Lotzen to think it was new to me.
He pressed me hotly and, at length, the final position came--the way
was open.
"Take it!" he said, savagely--and sent the thrust that should have made
good his promise to bury the whole blade in my heart.
But his point never reached me--for, as his sword glided along mine,
seemingly unopposed, I caught it exactly as Moore had shown me and
wrenched with all the strength of my wrist and arm.
There was a sharp grinding of steel; and then, like a thing alive, the
Duke's sword left his hand, sped through the air and settled, thirty
feet away, point downward in the turf, where it stuck, quivering and
swaying like a reed in the wind.
With a cry of sharp surprise, Lotzen sprang back and watched his sword
as it circled and fell. I moved a step toward him. Then, he turned to
me.
"It seems, Monsieur le Coquin," he said softly, "that I was in error;
and that it is the point of your sword and not the hilt I am to take.
So be it."
He draw himself up to attention, and raised his hand in salute.
"I am waiting," he said calmly.
Ferdinand of Lotzen was, doubtless, a bad lot. Once that night he had
given me to assassination; and, just now, he himself had deliberately
tried to kill me. He deserved no consideration; and, by every law of
justification, could I, then and there, have driven my sword into his
throat. Maybe I wanted to do it, too. We all are something of the
savage at times. And I think he fully expected to die. He had told me
frankly he purposed killing me, and he would not look for mercy,
himself. The dice had fallen against him. He had lost. And, like a
true gambler, he was ready to pay stakes. To give the fellow his due,
he was brave; with the sort of bravery that meets death--when it
must--with a smiling face and a steady eye.
And, so, for a space, we stood. He, erect and ready. I, with hand on
hip and point advanced.
I heard the gasps of women--a sob or two--and then, the rustle of
skirts, followed instantly by Courtney's soft command.
"Stay, madame--the matter is for His Highness only to decide."
Lotzen laughed lightly.
"Strike, man," he said, "or the petticoats will steal me from you."