“Well done, Robert!” said Willet.

De Mezy put his hand to his face, which was wet with perspiration, and steadied himself.  He had grown quite dizzy in the last few moments, and the pulses in his head beat so heavily that he could neither see nor think well.  He was conscious that he stood unarmed before a victorious foe, but he did not know Robert had put away his sword.

“Why don’t you strike?” he muttered.

“Mr. Lennox is satisfied,” said Nemours.  “He does not wish the combat to go further.”

“Unless Captain de Mezy insists on another trial,” said de Galisonniere, smiling a little, “but if he will take the advice of a countryman of his he will let the matter rest where it is.  Enough has been done to satisfy the honor of everybody.”

He and Nemours exchanged significant glances.  It was quite evident to de Mezy’s seconds that he was no match for Robert, and that another trial would probably result in greater disaster, so Nemours and Le Moyne, in behalf of their principal, promptly announced that they were satisfied, and de Galisonniere and Glandelet said as much for theirs.  Meanwhile Monsieur Berryer and the other spectators, who had now risen to the number of two score, continued to watch from the shelter of the trees.  They had seen the result with protruding eyes, but they had not understood when the young victor thrust his sword back in its sheath.  They could not hear the talk, but it was quite clear that the duel was over, and they turned away, somewhat disappointed that one of their own had lost the combat, but somewhat pleased, too, that he had not lost his own life at the same time.

“Shake hands, gentlemen,” said de Galisonniere blithely.  “Although no blood was shed it was a hot battle and I hope when you two meet again it will be in friendship and not in enmity.  You are a fine swordsman, Lennox, and it was honorable of you, de Mezy, when you didn’t know his caliber, to offer to take on, because of his youth, the older man, Mr. Willet.”

Robert came back and offered his hand frankly.  De Mezy, whose head was still ringing from his uncommon exertions and chagrin, took it.  It was bitter to have lost, but he still lived.  In a manner as he saw it, he had been disgraced, but time and the red wine and the white would take away the sting.  He still lived.  That was the grand and beautiful fact.  Many more joyous days and nights awaited him in the company of Bigot and Cadet and Pean, powerful men who knew how to exercise their power and how to live at the same time.  He should be grateful for a little while, at least, to the young Bostonnais, and he shook the proffered hand as heartily as his own damp, limp fingers would admit.

“May your stay in Quebec be as pleasant as you wish,” he said, a bit thickly.

“Thanks,” said Robert, who read the man’s mind thoroughly.

De Galisonniere put away the unstained swords, quite satisfied with the affair, himself and everybody.  An important follower of Bigot had been humbled, and yet he had not suffered in such a manner that he could call for the punishment of the one who had humbled him.  The very youth of the Bostonnais would disarm resentment against him.