At the end of a month it suddenly dawned upon M. des Amis that his assistant had developed into a fencer of very considerable force, a man in a bout with whom it became necessary to exert himself if he were to escape defeat.

“I said from the first,” he told him one day, “that Nature designed you for a swordsman.  See how justified I was, and see also how well I have known how to mould the material with which Nature has equipped you.”

“To the master be the glory,” said Andre-Louis.

His relations with M. des Amis had meanwhile become of the friendliest, and he was now beginning to receive from him other pupils than mere beginners.  In fact Andre-Louis was becoming an assistant in a much fuller sense of the word.  M. des Amis, a chivalrous, open-handed fellow, far from taking advantage of what he had guessed to be the young man’s difficulties, rewarded his zeal by increasing his wages to four louis a month.

From the’ earnest and thoughtful study of the theories of others, it followed now — as not uncommonly happens — that Andre-Louis came to develop theories of his own.  He lay one June morning on his little truckle bed in the alcove behind the academy, considering a passage that he had read last night in Danet on double and triple feints.  It had seemed to him when reading it that Danet had stopped short on the threshold of a great discovery in the art of fencing.  Essentially a theorist, Andre-Louis perceived the theory suggested, which Danet himself in suggesting it had not perceived.  He lay now on his back, surveying the cracks in the ceiling and considering this matter further with the lucidity that early morning often brings to an acute intelligence.  You are to remember that for close upon two months now the sword had been Andre-Louis’ daily exercise and almost hourly thought.  Protracted concentration upon the subject was giving him an extraordinary penetration of vision.  Swordsmanship as he learnt and taught and saw it daily practised consisted of a series of attacks and parries, a series of disengages from one line into another.  But always a limited series.  A half-dozen disengages on either side was, strictly speaking, usually as far as any engagement went.  Then one recommenced.  But even so, these disengages were fortuitous.  What if from first to last they should be calculated?

That was part of the thought — one of the two legs on which his theory was to stand; the other was:  what would happen if one so elaborated Danet’s ideas on the triple feint as to merge them into a series of actual calculated disengages to culminate at the fourth or fifth or even sixth disengage?  That is to say, if one were to make a series of attacks inviting ripostes again to be countered, each of which was not intended to go home, but simply to play the opponent’s blade into a line that must open him ultimately, and as predetermined, for an irresistible lunge.  Each counter of the opponent’s would have to be preconsidered in this widening of his guard, a widening so gradual that he should himself be unconscious of it, and throughout intent upon getting home his own point on one of those counters.