The contest came to an end, with seven points for the vicomte and two for the poet.

The vicomte was loudly applauded, as was due a famous swordsman and a hail-fellow.
[Illustration: "The Vicomte bowed jestingly."] The Chevalier, who had followed each stroke with feverish eyes, sighed with chagrin.

There were three strokes he had taught Victor, and the poet had not used one of them.
"Why did you let those opportunities pass ?" he asked, petulantly.
"Some day I may need those strokes.

The vicomte does not know that I possess them." Victor smiled; then he frowned.

"He is made of iron; he is a stone wall; but he is not as brilliant and daring as you are, Paul." "Let us prolong the truce indefinitely," said the vicomte, later.
Victor bowed without speaking.