It seems hardly possible that two men could engage in a combat with rapiers, at such an occasion, and not draw a crowd.  There is something peculiarly penetrating about the ring of steel on steel at night.  Yet, such was the extent of the grounds and, so retired was our locality, that no strangers were attracted.  Almost at the first stroke, however, I heard exclamations from the direction of my companions.  In a moment, Courtney came running up, his drawn sword in hand—­and the others after him.

I had plenty of use for my eyes with the immediate business in hand; but, as I chanced to be facing them, I had a vision of Courtney—­his mask off—­leaning forward intently watching the fight.  Then, he calmly returned sword and drew back.

I heard the Marquise exclaim:  “Mon Dieu!  Someone is trying to kill His Highness—­we must save him!”

But Courtney clapped his hand over her mouth and silenced her.  Even in the press of the duel, I think, I smiled.

“Your pardon, my dear Marquise,” he said, loudly—­so I would hear it, I knew—­“His Highness needs no saving.”

Then I heard no more—­for the Duke assumed the offensive fiercely and his sword began to move like lightning.  And well, indeed, was it, for me, that I had learned something of this gentle game of fence, else had that night been my last on Earth.

Then, of a sudden, from out a sharp rally, came the first strokes of Moore’s coup.  I had been expecting it.  I steadied myself to meet it, giving back just a trifle to lead Lotzen to think it was new to me.  He pressed me hotly and, at length, the final position came—­the way was open.

“Take it!” he said, savagely—­and sent the thrust that should have made good his promise to bury the whole blade in my heart.

But his point never reached me—­for, as his sword glided along mine, seemingly unopposed, I caught it exactly as Moore had shown me and wrenched with all the strength of my wrist and arm.

There was a sharp grinding of steel; and then, like a thing alive, the Duke’s sword left his hand, sped through the air and settled, thirty feet away, point downward in the turf, where it stuck, quivering and swaying like a reed in the wind.

With a cry of sharp surprise, Lotzen sprang back and watched his sword as it circled and fell.  I moved a step toward him.  Then, he turned to me.

“It seems, Monsieur le Coquin,” he said softly, “that I was in error; and that it is the point of your sword and not the hilt I am to take.  So be it.”

He draw himself up to attention, and raised his hand in salute.

“I am waiting,” he said calmly.