in their stockinged feet, to their respective positions. Facing each
other, they saluted with their swords and then stood with the right
arm pointing downwards and across the body so that the hilt of the
sword was against the right thigh and the blade directed to the rear.

"One word, Sir Matthew de Warrenne," said Sir Seymour as they paused
in this attitude. "If my point rests for a second on your hilt _you
are a dead man_."

Sir Matthew laughed in an ugly manner and replied:--

"And what is your knavish design now, Sir Seymour Stukeley?"

"My design _was_ to warn you of an infallible trick of fence, Sir
Matthew. It _now_ is to kill you--for the insult, and on behalf of ...
your own unhappy daughter."

The other yawned and remarked to his friend:--

"I have a parade in half an hour."

"On guard," cried the person addressed, drawing his sword and
striking an attitude.

"Play," cried Captain Delorme, doing similarly.

Both principals crouched somewhat, held their swords horizontal, with
point to the adversary's breast and hilt drawn back, arm sharply
bent--for both, it appeared, had perfected the Art of Arts in Italy.