He threw off his coat, buttoned a padded guard across his
chest, and handing a foil to his instructor, took his place before
him.
"Now let us practise that thrust in tierce after the feint and
disengage. You were not quite so close as you might have been,
yesterday. Ha! ha! that is better. I think that monsieur your
grandfather has been giving you a lesson, and poaching on my manor.
Is it not so?"
"Yes," said the old man, "I gave him ten minutes yesterday evening;
but I must give it up. My sword begins to fail me, and your pupil
gets more skillful, and stronger in the wrist, every day. In the
days when I was at Saint Germains with the king, when the cropheads
lorded it here, I could hold my own with the best of your young
blades. But even allowing fully for the stiffness of age, I think I
can still gauge the strength of an opponent, and I think the boy
promises to be of premiere force."
"It is as you say, monsieur le colonel. My pupil is born to be a
fencer; he learns it with all his heart; he has had two good
teachers for three years; he has worked with all his energy at it;
and he has one of those supple strong wrists that seem made for the
sword. He presses me hard.
"Now, Monsieur Rupert, open play, and do your best."
Then began a struggle which would have done credit to any fencing
school in Europe. Rupert Holliday was as active as a cat, and was
ever on the move, constantly shifting his ground, advancing and
retreating with astonishing lightness and activity.
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