The master’s eyebrows went up.  “But then?” he cried.  “Why trouble to come up two flights of stairs?” He was impatient.

“The notice does not demand a high degree of proficiency.  If I am not proficient enough, yet knowing the rudiments I can easily improve.  I learn most things readily,” Andre-Louis commended himself.  “For the rest:  I possess the other qualifications.  I am young, as you observe:  and I leave you to judge whether I am wrong in assuming that my address is good.  I am by profession a man of the robe, though I realize that the motto here is cedat toga armis.”

M. des Amis smiled approvingly.  Undoubtedly the young man had a good address, and a certain readiness of wit, it would appear.  He ran a critical eye over his physical points.  “What is your name?” he asked.

Andre-Louis hesitated a moment.  “Andre-Louis,” he said.

The dark, keen eyes conned him more searchingly.

“Well?  Andre-Louis what?”

“Just Andre-Louis.  Louis is my surname.”

“Oh!  An odd surname.  You come from Brittany by your accent.  Why did you leave it?”

“To save my skin,” he answered, without reflecting.  And then made haste to cover the blunder.  “I have an enemy,” he explained.

M. des Amis frowned, stroking his square chin.  “You ran away?”

“You may say so.

“A coward, eh?”

“I don’t think so.”  And then he lied romantically.  Surely a man who lived by the sword should have a weakness for the romantic.  “You see, my enemy is a swordsman of great strength — the best blade in the province, if not the best blade in France.  That is his repute.  I thought I would come to Paris to learn something of the art, and then go back and kill him.  That, to be frank, is why your notice attracted me.  You see, I have not the means to take lessons otherwise.  I thought to find work here in the law.  But I have failed.  There are too many lawyers in Paris as it is, and whilst waiting I have consumed the little money that I had, so that... so that, enfin, your notice seemed to me something to which a special providence had directed me.”

M. des Amis gripped him by the shoulders, and looked into his face.

“Is this true, my friend?” he asked.

“Not a word of it,” said Andre-Louis, wrecking his chances on an irresistible impulse to say the unexpected.  But he didn’t wreck them.  M. des Amis burst into laughter; and having laughed his fill, confessed himself charmed by his applicant’s fundamental honesty.

“Take off your coat,” he said, “and let us see what you can do.  Nature, at least, designed you for a swordsman.  You are light, active, and supple, with a good length of arm, and you seem intelligent.  I may make something of you, teach you enough for my purpose, which is that you should give the elements of the art to new pupils before I take them in hand to finish them.  Let us try.  Take that mask and foil, and come over here.”