“The Italians wield dangerous weapons,” said von Warmond.

“Very true, but they bend to and fro and lack firmness.  I know what I’m talking about, for I lodged with my colleague Torelli, the best fencing-master in the city.  I’ll say nothing of the meals he set before me.  To-day macaroni, to-morrow macaroni with a couple of chicken drumsticks to boot, and so on.  I’ve often drawn my belt tighter after dinner.  As for the art of fencing, Torelli is certainly no bungler, but he too has the skipping fashion in his method.  You must keep your eyes open in a passado with him, but if I can once get to my quarte, tierce, and side-thrust, I have him.”

“An excellent series,” said Junker von Warmond.  “It has been useful to me.”

“I know, I know,” replied the captain eagerly.  “You silenced the French brawler with it at Namur.  There’s the catch in my throat again.  Something will happen to-day, gentlemen, something will surely happen.”

The fencing-master grasped the front of his ruff with his left hand and set the glass on the table with his right.  He had often done so far more carelessly, but to-day the glass shattered into many fragments.

“That’s nothing,” cried the young nobleman.  “Waiter, another glass for Captain Allertssohn.”

The fencing-master pushed his chair back from the table, and looking at the broken pieces of greenish glass, said in an altered tone, as if speaking to himself rather than his companions: 

“Yes, yes, something serious will happen to-day.  Shattered into a thousand pieces.  As God wills!  I know where my place is.”

Von Warmond filled a fresh glass, saying with a slight shade of reproof in his tone:  “Why, Captain, Captain, what whims are these?  Before the battle of Brill I fell in jumping out of the boat and broke my sword.  I soon found another, but the idea came into my head:  ’you’ll meet your death to-day.’  Yet here I sit, and hope to empty many a beaker with you.”

“It has passed already,” said the fencing-master, raising his hat and wiping the perspiration from his forehead with the back of his hand.  “Every one must meet his death-hour, and if mine is approaching to-day —­be it as God wills!  My family won’t starve.  The house on the new Rhine is free from mortgage, and though they don’t inherit much else, I shall leave my children an honest name and trustworthy friends.  I know you won’t lose sight of my second boy, the musician, Wilhelm.  Nobody is indispensable, and if Heaven wishes to call me from this command, Junker von Nordwyk, Jan Van der Does, can fill my place.  You, Herr von Warmond, are in just the right spot, and the good cause will reach a successful end even without me.”

The musician listened with surprise to the softened tone of the strange man’s voice, but the young nobleman raised his drinking-cup, exclaiming: 

“Such heavy thoughts for a light glass!  You make too much of the matter, Captain.  Take your bumper again, and pledge me:  Long live the noble art of fencing, and your series:  quarte, tierce and side-thrust!”