Both whipped out their swords, M. de Quelus now seemingly unconscious of
the pain in his arm.
I looked on from the shadow in which I had stopped, not having followed
De Quelus into the little open space. My interest in the encounter was
naturally the greater for having learned the names of the antagonists. At
La Tournoire I had heard enough of the court to know that the Marquis de
Quelus was the chief of the King's effeminate chamberlains, whom he
called his minions, and that Bussy d'Amboise was the most redoubtable of
the rufflers attached to the King's discontented brother, the Duke of
Anjou; and that between the dainty gentlemen of the King and the bullying
swordsmen of the Duke, there was continual feud.
Bussy d'Amboise, disdaining even to remove his cloak, of which he quickly
gathered the end under his left arm, made two steps and a thrust at De
Quelus. The latter made what parade he could for a moment, so that Bussy
stepped back to try a feint. De Quelus, trying to raise his sword a
trifle higher, uttered an ejaculation of pain, and then dropped the
point. Bussy had already begun the motion of a lunge, which it was too
late to arrest, even if he had discovered that the other's arm was
injured and had disdained to profit by such an advantage. De Quelus would
have been pierced through had not I leaped forward with drawn sword and,
by a quick thrust, happened to strike Bussy's blade and make it diverge
from its course.
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