SOME PASSAGES AT ARMS
There comes a moment to every man, who faces an imminent danger, when the mental vision expands and he sees beyond.By this transient gift of prescience he knows what the end will be, whether he is to live or die.As Maurice looked into the merciless eyes of his enemy, a dim knowledge came to him that this was to be an event and not a catastrophe, a fragment of a picture yet to be fully drawn.His confidence and courage returned.He thanked God, however, that the light above equalized their positions, and that the shadows were behind them.
The swords came together with a click light but ominous.
Immediately Beauvais stepped back, suddenly threw forward his body, and delivered three rapid thrusts.Maurice met them firmly, giving none.
"Ah!" cried Beauvais; "that is good.You know a little.There will be sport, besides."Maurice shut his lips the tighter, and worked purely on the defensive.His fencing master had taught him two things, silence and watchfulness.While Beauvais made use of his forearm, Maurice as yet depended solely on his wrist.Once they came together, guard to guard, neither daring to break away until by mutual agreement, spoken only by the eyes, both leaped backward out of reach.There was no sound save the quick light stamp of feet and the angry murmur of steel scraping against steel.Sometimes they moved circlewise, with free blades, waiting and watching.Up to now Beauvais's play had been by the book, so to speak, and he began to see that his opponent was well read.
"Which side is the pretty rose?" seeking to distract Maurice.
"Tell me, and I will pin it to you."
Not a muscle moved in Maurice's face.
"It is too, bad," went on Beauvais, "that her Highness finds a lover only to lose him.You fool! I read your eyes when you picked up that rose.Princesses are not for such as you.I will find her a lover, it will be neither you nor Prince Frederick--ah! you caught that nicely.But you depend too much on the wrist.Presently it will tire; and then--pouf!"Now and then a a flame, darting from the grate, sparkled on the polished steel, and from the steel it shot into the watchful eyes.A quarter of an hour passed; still Maurice remained on the defensive.At first Beauvais misunderstood the reason, and thought Maurice did not dare run the risk of passing from defensive to offensive.But by and by the froth of impatience crept into his veins.He could not penetrate above or below that defense.The man before him was of marble, with a wrist of iron;he neither smiled nor spoke, there was no sign of life at all, except in the agile legs, the wrist, and eyes.The Colonel decided to change his tactics.
"When I have killed you," he said, "I shall search your pockets, for I know that you lie when you say that you have not those certificates.Madame was a fool to send you.No man lives who may be trusted.And what is your game? Save the Osians? Small good it will do you.Her Highness will wed Prince Frederick--mayhap--and all you will get is cold thanks.And in such an event, have you reckoned on Madame the duchess? War! And who will win? Madame;for she has not only her own army, but mine.Come, come! Speak, for when you leave this room your voice will be silent.Make use of the gift, since it is about to leave you."The reply was a sudden straightening of the arm.The blade slipped in between the Colonel's forearm and body, and was out again before the soldier fully comprehended what had happened.
Maurice permitted a cold smile to soften the rigidity of his face.Beauvais saw the smile, and read it.The thrust had been rendered harmless intentionally.An inch nearer, and he had been a dead man.To accomplish such a delicate piece of sword play required nothing short of mastery.Beauvais experienced a disagreeable chill, which was not unmixed with chagrin.The boy had held his life in his hand, and had spared it.He set his teeth, and let loose with a fury before which nothing could stand; and Maurice was forced back step by step until he was almost up with the wall.
"You damned fool!" the Colonel snarled, "you'll never get that chance again."For the next few minutes it took all the splendid defense Maurice possessed to keep the spark in his body.The Colonel's sword was no longer a sword, it was a flame; which circled, darted, hissed and writhed.Twice Maurice felt the bite of it, once in the arm and again in the thigh.These were not deep, but they told him that the end was but a short way off.He had no match for this brilliant assault.Something must be done, and that at once.He did not desire the Colonel's death, and the possibility of accomplishing this was now extremely doubtful.But he wanted to live.Life was just beginning--the rough road had been left behind.He was choosing between his life and the Colonel's.
Beauvais, after the fashion of the old masters, was playing for the throat.This upward thrusting, when continuous, is difficult to meet, and Maurice saw that sooner or later the blade would reach home.If not sudden death, it meant speechlessness, and death as a finality.Then the voice of his guardian angel spoke.
"I do not wish your life," he said, breaking the silence, "but at the same time I wish to live--ah!" Maurice leaped back just in time.As it was, the point of his enemy's blade scratched his chin.
They broke and circled.The Colonel feinted.Maurice, with his elbow against his side and his forearm extended, waited.Again the Colonel lunged for the throat.This time, instead of meeting it in tierce, Maurice threw his whole force forward in such a manner as to bring the steel guard of his rapier full on the Colonel's point.There was a ringing sound of snapping steel, and the Colonel stood with nothing but a stump in his grasp.
