The round table in the centre had been tilted over upon its side, and three broken bottles of wine, with apples, pears, nuts, and the fragments of the dishes containing them, were littered over the floor.

A couple of packs of cards and a dice-box lay amongst the scattered feast.

Close by the door stood Decimus Saxon, with his drawn rapier in his hand and a second one beneath his feet, while facing him there was a young officer in a blue uniform, whose face was reddened with shame and anger, and who looked wildly about the room as though in search of some weapon to replace that of which he had been deprived.

He might have served Cibber or Gibbons as a model for a statue of impotent rage.

Two other officers dressed in the same blue uniform stood by their comrade, and as I observed that they had laid their hands upon the hilts of their swords, I took my place by Saxon's side, and stood ready to strike in should the occasion arise.
'What would the maitre d'armes say--the maitre d'escrime ?' cried my companion.