A good swordsman too, that wealthy parvenu. It was interesting to
watch his sword-play: very quiet at first, no feint or parry, scarcely
a riposte, only _en garde,_ always _en garde_ very carefully,
steadily, ready for his antagonist at every turn and in every
circumstance.

Gradually the circle round the combatants narrowed. A few discreet
exclamations of admiration greeted Deroulede's most successful parry.
De Marny was getting more and more excited, the older man more and
more sober and reserved.

A thoughtless lunge placed the little Vicomte at his opponent's mercy.
The next instant he was disarmed, and the seconds were pressing
forward to end the conflict.

Honour was satisfied: the parvenu and the scion of the ancient race
had crossed swords over the reputation of one of the most dissolute
women in France. Deroulede's moderation was a lesson to all the
hot-headed young bloods who toyed with their lives, their honour,
their reputation as lightly as they did with their lace-edged
handkerchiefs and gold snuff-boxes.

Already Deroulede had drawn back. With the gentle tact peculiar to
kindly people, he avoided looking at his disarmed antagonist. But
something in the older man's attitude seemed to further nettle the
over-stimulated sensibility of the young Vicomte.

"This is no child's play, monsieur," he said excitedly. "I demand
full satisfaction."