You have made a brave showing, and, on my word, you hold a tolerable blade for a poet.

Now then!" Victor smiled, but a moment later his smile died away, and he drew his lips inward with anxiety.

He felt a new power in the foil slithering up and down his own.

Suddenly a thousand needles stung his wrist: his foil lay rolling about the deck.

The vicomte bowed jestingly, stepped forward and picked up the foil, presenting it to its owner.