My arm has been hurt in a fall, and I cannot even hold
up my sword."
"I know that," I replied. "That is why I interfered."
"The devil!" cried Bussy. "Much as I detest you, M. de Quelus, you know I
would not have attacked you had I known that. But this gentleman, at
least, has nothing the matter with his arm."
And he came for me again.
Nothing the matter with my arm! Actually a compliment upon my
sword-handling from the most invincible fighter, whether in formal duel
or sudden quarrel, in France! I liked the generosity which impelled him
to acknowledge me a worthy antagonist, as much as I resented his
overbearing insolence; and I began to think there was a chance for me.
For the first time, I now assumed the offensive, and with such suddenness
that Bussy fell back, out of sheer surprise. He had forgotten about the
cross that stood in the centre of the place, and, in leaping backward, he
struck this cross heavily with his sword wrist. His glove did not save
him from being jarred and bruised; and, for a moment, he relaxed his firm
grasp of his sword, and before he could renew his clutch I could have
destroyed his guard and ended the matter; but I dropped my point instead.
Bussy looked at me in amazement, and then dropped his.
"Absurd, monsieur! You might very fairly have used your advantage.
Now you have spoiled everything. We can't go on fighting, for I would
not give you another such opening, nor would I kill a man who gives
me my life.
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