“Yes, but learned.”

“Ah! you mock,” thought Chicot, “but wait.”  Then he said, “I am certain, however, that Brother Borromee, like a wise master, often let Jacques touch him out of complaisance.”

“Ah!” cried Jacques, frowning in his turn.

“No,” replied Borromee, “I love Jacques, certainly, but I do not spoil him in that manner.  But try yourself, M. Briquet.”

“Oh, no.”

“Come, only one pass.”

“Try,” said Gorenflot.

“I will not hurt you, monsieur,” said Jacques, “I have a very light hand.”

“Dear child,” murmured Chicot, with a strange glance.  “Well!” said he, “since every one wishes it, I will try,” and he rose slowly, and prepared himself with about the agility of a tortoise.

CHAPTER XXII.

The lesson.

Fencing was not at that time the science that it is now.  The swords, sharp on each side, made them strike as often with the edge as with the point; besides, the left hand, armed with a dagger, was at the same time offensive and defensive, and hence resulted a number of slight wounds, which, in a real combat, kept up a continual excitement.  Fencing, then in its infancy, consisted in a crowd of evolutions, in which the actor moved continually, and which, on a ground chosen by chance, might be continually impeded by its nature.

It was common to see the fencer throw himself forward, draw back again, or jump to the right or left, so that agility, not only of the hand, but of the whole body, was necessary.  Chicot did not appear to have learned in this school, but seemed to have forestalled the modern style, of which the superiority and grace is in the agility of the hands and immovability of the body.  He stood erect and firm, with a wrist at once strong and supple, and with a sword which seemed a flexible reed from the point to the middle of the blade, and an inflexible steel from thence to the guard.

At the very first commencement, Jacques, seeing before him this man of bronze, whose wrist alone seemed alive, gave some impatient passes, which merely made Chicot extend his arm, and at every opening left by the young man, strike him full on the chest.  Jacques, red with anger and emulation as this was repeated, bounded back, and for ten minutes displayed all the resources of his wonderful agility—­he flew like a tiger, twisted like a serpent, and bounded from right to left; but Chicot, with his calm air and his long arm, seized his time, and putting aside his adversary’s sword, still sent his own to the same place, while Borromee grew pale with anger.  At last, Jacques rushed a last time on Chicot, who, parrying his thrust with force, threw the poor fellow off his equilibrium, and he fell, while Chicot himself remained firm as a rock.

“You did not tell us you were a pillar,” said Borromee, biting his nails with vexation.