I heard the deep bass of Castelroux's "Mordieux!" the sharp gasp of
fear from Saint-Eustache, who already in imagination beheld his
friend stretched lifeless on the ground, and the cry of mortification
from La Fosse as the Count recovered. But I heeded these things
little. As I have said, to kill the Count was not my object. It
had been wise, perhaps, in Chatellerault to have appreciated that
fact; but he did not. From the manner in which he now proceeded to
press me, I was assured that he set his having recovered guard to
slowness on my part, never thinking of the speed that had been
necessary to win myself such an opening as I had obtained.
My failure to run him through in that moment of jeopardy inspired
him with a contempt of my swordplay. This he now made plain by the
recklessness with which he fenced, in his haste to have done ere we
might chance to be interrupted. Of this recklessness I suddenly
availed myself to make an attempt at disarming him. I turned aside
a vicious thrust by a close - a dangerously close - parry, and
whilst in the act of encircling his blade I sought by pressure to
carry it out of his hand. I was within an ace of succeeding, yet
he avoided me, and doubled back.
He realized then, perhaps, that I was not quite so contemptible an
antagonist as he had been imagining, and he went back to his earlier
and more cautious tactics. Then I changed my plans. I simulated
an attack, and drove him hard for some moments.
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