This had been observed by most of the spectators, who approached and formed a circle around us; all of them highly interested in the result--which, they knew, would be an index to the election.
The room was an armoury, and all kinds of weapons for military practice were kept in it.

Each had helped himself to his foil.

One of the weapons was without a button, and sharp enough to be dangerous in the hands of an angry man.

I noticed that my antagonist had chosen this one.
"Your foil is not in order; it has lost the button, has it not ?" I observed.
"Ah! monsieur, pardon.

I did not perceive that." "A strange oversight," muttered Clayley, with a significant glance.
The Frenchman returned the imperfect foil, and took another.
"Have you a choice, monsieur ?" I inquired.
"No, thank you; I am satisfied." By this time every person in the rendezvous had come up, and waited with breathless anxiety.