The blow he had received had laid open the flesh on his cheek-bone, and blood was flowing from the wound.

Never in his life before had he been so humiliated.

And by a Frenchman--it roused every instinct of race-hatred in him.

Yet he wanted not to go at him with a sword, but with his two honest hands, and beat him into a whining submission.

But the man was deformed, he had none of his own robust strength--he was not to be struck, but to be tossed out of the way like an offending child.
He staunched the blood from his face and made a step forward without a word, determined not to fight, but to take the weapon from the other's hands.