Clash of Arms. John Bloundelle-Burton
a few minutes' walk west of the burnt church, and also on the following night. Each night for an hour. I counsel you to come."
"Wait," he said in the morning to the soldier-servant who attended on him, and who was about to proceed to Turenne's quarters with the letter half an hour after daybreak, "wait for an answer by word of mouth. Yes or No. Those who take the letter from your hand can bring you back the reply. Remember, by word of mouth."
Then he went forth to a hard day's duty with the regiment, which was under orders to be ready at any moment to strike its tents and march in all probability towards the defile of Rhinzabern, and did not return again until the evening.
By that time he knew that the opportunity for the Vicomte to avoid him no longer existed; the order had gone forth that day that the remainder of the army would possibly not move till the following week. De Bois-Vallée could not, therefore, escape thus, as Andrew had feared he would be able to do if the rout had been set for that night.
"He is mine. Mine," he said to himself as he strode to his tent. "Mine if only I have pricked him into consent. He cannot avoid me now. I will have him somehow, even though he should again refuse to meet me."
For that De Bois-Vallée could emerge triumphant from this "trial of skill" he never believed; nay, gave no thought to. Maître d'armes or not, as he might be, Andrew Vause felt sure that, once point to point with him, he would avenge his brother.
His man met him at the door, and, in answer to the hasty question, "Well, what reply?" said, "the reply, sir, is 'Yes. To-night,'" and, as a glow of satisfaction rose to his master's bosom, the servant continued, "Also, there is this for you, sir," and produced a letter with, again, the great seal on it.
"You force this upon me," it ran, "therefore the outcome is on your own head. I choose swords of the length of thirty-eight inches. I shall come alone, as I do not desire to be punished for your death."
Andrew had smiled but little since he saw Philip's coffin lowered into the grave by the side of his mother and father, nor had he made many of the jokes he loved since that day, yet he smiled now so pleasantly that his servant, who strongly suspected a duel to be lurking beneath all this fetching and carrying of letters and messages, began to think he was mistaken, and went to his night quarters quite cheerfully. Yet, ere he departed, he asked his master if he desired to be awakened as usual half an hour before daybreak-the question being put as much with a desire to see if it would be answered with any shadow of doubt attached to it, as to know his duty.
"Ay," said Andrew quietly, "or maybe a little earlier. And have all my necessaries ready for our departure. We shall most like strike tent to-morrow."
After which reply the man went away, thinking what a fool he had been to suppose that people would be killing each other when there was an enemy of twice their own force close at hand to do it for them.
Left alone, Andrew picked out the rapier-a deep cup-hilted one-whose size De Bois-Vallée had suggested, and tested it severely against the floor and wall, bending it against each until it must have broken had it not been of the finest-tempered steel; also he examined carefully its hilt and quillon to see that all was secure and firm.
"I must give my friend no chance," he thought; "a broken blade, a loosened hilt, and-poof! – good-night to Andrew Vause!"
So, satisfied that all was well with the weapon, he rubbed it carefully on his sleeve, and, returning it to its black leather scabbard, went forth with it behind his back.
The glade near the burnt church which some of Hamilton's men had fired a week ago-wherefore two were now hanging by Turenne's orders to a yew tree outside it-was very peaceful in the glow of the summer sunset, and here, at least, except for the view of the ruined church through the trees that bordered the grassy space, there were no signs of the devastation of the land. Above, the rooks were cawing as though no such thing as powder and ball had ever disturbed them, and now and again a rabbit or two, which had escaped the general pillage and search for food, ran away at the sound of Andrew's footsteps on the soft springy turf, whisking the underwhite of their tails before his eyes.
"A better spot for love-making than for killing," he thought to himself; "for an arm to fold itself around a maiden's waist, than to press down a scoundrel's guard-ah! here comes the scoundrel himself," and he took off his hat with great courtesy to the Vicomte de Bois-Vallée, who strode towards him.
The latter seemed, however, to have exhausted his politeness in the letters he had written, and, without deigning any reply to the other's salutation, instantly divested himself of his coat, while he unlooped the sheath from which he had already drawn his weapon, and threw it down on top of the garment. Yet, as he did so, he gave an astonished glance at the form of the man before him, and at his great sinewy limbs. Perhaps he had heard from the woman who had betrayed Philip how slight and delicate a man he was, and wondered that this other, who was of the same flesh and blood, should be so strong and powerful!
"I have but one question to ask," he said, as he stood now before Andrew, "a usual one in our country when one honours a stranger by crossing swords with him. You are, I presume, of gentle blood?"
"I am Philip Vause's brother. And he was of sufficiently gentle blood for you to steal his future wife from him like a thief."
"Enough," the Vicomte said, while his face became suffused. "Enough. I am at your service."
"And," continued Andrew, "had we been of the commonest clay our country owns, I should still carry out my determination of punishing such a thief."
Without another word their swords crossed, and as they did so Andrew was surprised at the reckless fury of the man before him. Was this the maître d'armes, the renowned escrimeur; this man who fought more like a hot-headed boy than a practical swordsman, cool and wary! Yet, Andrew reflected-as he parried thrust after thrust with his wrist of steel, and waited his turn, which would come soon if the Vicomte spent himself thus-doubtless the epithet of "thief" had roused him-precisely as he had meant that it should do.
Gradually, too, he edged his opponent round so that the rays of the setting sun, which had been in his own eyes when the conflict began, would, in another moment, be in those of his adversary; but this advantage he could not obtain altogether, since the Frenchman perceived his intention in an instant and endeavoured to drive Andrew back to his original position. As well might he, however, have endeavoured to drive back a rock from the earth it was set in! Andrew's feet were firm upon the turf, and, henceforth, they fought with the sun's rays athwart them, and not favouring one more than the other.
Watching De Bois-Vallée with an eye like a hawk's and parrying thrust after thrust, he saw upon the other's forehead the moisture coming and the drops gathering, and then, for the first time, he let his own weapon shoot out, after thrusting the Vicomte's last lunge away from him with another twist of his wrist. He missed his mark, it was true, since the sword's point tore but an inch out of the cambric of the other's shirt above his left shoulder, but the rip of the material under his ear told De Bois-Vallée the danger he was in. The cool Englishman before him was deadly, he recognized, otherwise how had the point reached to where it did? He had calculated the other could not come within half a foot of him.
"I will take it a little lower next time, monsieur," Andrew said quietly. "It is a charming pass when properly made!"
But at his words the furious thrusts of his opponent ceased. The Vicomte was a different man. Softly his blade now glided up and down the other's, and Andrew knew that he was going to experience a real taste of his antagonist's skill-he would learn a new pass in a moment.
And in a moment he did learn it. High up near his own hilt crept the other's sword, then he disengaged, feinted once, and-a second later-his rapier had slit the Englishman's waistcoat outside his left ribs, had passed within four inches of his heart. But, since it was four inches, it might as well have been a mile!
"Ha!" said Andrew as the other recovered himself, and, jumping back out of reach, glared at him, "a pretty botte. And worth knowing-as I know it now. But, monsieur, you should have been sure of it, or made no attempt. It will serve you no more." And with great suavity he said, "Monsieur is perhaps ready to recommence?"
"He is implacable," De Bois-Vallée thought to himself. "Curse him,