"Who is he? What singular freak is this of the maitre to take up a
foil with a boy!" was the question which ran round the room.
Several of those present had met Rupert Holliday, and could give
his name; but none could account for the freak on the part of the
master.
Fortunately Rupert was unacquainted with the fact that what seemed
to him a natural occurrence was an extraordinary event in the eyes
of all assembled, and he therefore experienced no feeling of
nervousness whatever. He knew that Colonel Holliday was a master of
the sword, and his grandfather had told him that Monsieur Dessin
was an altogether exceptional swordsman. As he knew himself to be
fully a match for the latter, he felt sure that, however perfect a
master Monsieur Dalboy might be, he need not fear discrediting his
master, even if his present opponent should prove more than his
match.
There was a dead silence of curiosity at the singularity of the
affair, as Rupert Holliday took his post face to face with the
master; but a murmur of surprise and admiration ran round the room
at the grace and perfection of accuracy with which Rupert went
through the various parades which were then customary before the
combatants crossed swords.
Rupert felt as calm and as steady as when fencing at home, and
determined to use all his caution as well as all his skill; for not
only did he feel that his own strength was upon trial, but that the
honour of the teachers who had taken such pains with him was
concerned in the result.
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