Canaples grew aware of the confident, almost exultant mood in which I met
him, and which told him that I was his master. Add to this the fact that
whilst Canaples's nerves were unstrung by passion mine were held in check
by a mind as calm and cool as though our swords were baited, and consider
with what advantages I took my ground.

He led the attack fiercely and furiously, as if I were a boy whose guard
was to be borne down by sheer weight of blows. I contented myself with
tapping his blade aside, and when at length, after essaying every trick in
his catalogue, he fell back baffled, I laughed a low laugh of derision that
drove him pale with fury.

Again he came at me, almost before I was prepared for him, and his point,
parried with a downward stroke and narrowly averted, scratched my thigh,
but did more damage to my breeches than my skin. in exchange I touched him
playfully on the shoulder, and the sting of it drove him back a second
time. He was breathing hard by then, and would fain have paused awhile for
breath, but I saw no reason to be merciful.

"Now, sir," I cried, saluting him as though our combat were but on the
point of starting--"to me! Guard yourself!"

Again our swords clashed, and my blows now fell as swift on his blade as
his had done awhile ago on mine. So hard did I press him that he was
forced to give way before me. Back I drove him pace by pace, his wrist
growing weaker at each parry, each parry growing wider, and the
perspiration streaming down his ashen face. Panting he went, in that
backward flight before my onslaught, defending himself as best he could,
never thinking of a riposte--beaten already. Back, and yet back he went,
until he reached the railings and could back no farther, and so broken was