He was of the ordinary type and I
could have run him through without the least effort. As it was, I
touched him, presently, once on each arm--then disengaged and saluted.
"I thank Your Highness," he said; "it could just as well have been my
heart and throat a dozen times."
"I am younger and more active," I explained.
But he smiled it down. "I am not sensitive, sir. Besides, it gives me
joy."
I supposed he was thinking of Lotzen.
After a short rest, Moore and I faced each other.
"Let us cut the parades," I said--and Bernheim gave the word to engage.
Without conceit I can say that I am more than moderately skillful with
the sword. It is, possibly, the one hobby of my life. My father and
grandfather before me were strong fencers, and one of my earliest
recollections is being given a toy foil and put through the parades.
There is a saying that "a swordsman is born not made," and it is a true
one. But, unless there is hard study and training from childhood, the
birth gift is wasted and there is only a made-fencer in the end. My
good sire had appreciated this fact, and not only gave me the best
instructors obtainable in America, but, in my second year's vacation
from "The Point," he took me to Paris and kept me hard at work under
the best French _maitres_.
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