“An assertion,” commented the staff officer, “which I am able to prove on the marshal’s return and with his permission, provided always that the request be decently made.”

They had been speaking in French and meanwhile removing their tunics.  The staff officer had even drawn off his riding boots.  “Do you understand?” asked the lieutenant.

“A little,” said I; “enough to serve the occasion.”

“Excellent barber-surgeon!  Would that all your nation were no more inquisitive!” He turned to the staff officer.  “Ready?  On guard, then, monsieur!”

The combat was really not worth describing.  The young staff officer had indeed as much training as his opponent (and that was little), but no wrist at all.  He had scarcely engaged before he attempted a blind cut over the scalp.  The lieutenant, parrying clumsily, but just in time, forced blade and arm upward until the two pointed almost vertically to heaven, and their forearms almost rubbed as the pair stood close and chest to chest.  For an instant the staff officer’s sword was actually driven back behind his head; and then with a rearward spring the lieutenant disengaged and brought his edge clean down on his adversary’s left shoulder and breast, narrowly missing his ear.  The cut itself, delivered almost in the recoil, had no great weight behind it, but the blood spurted at once, and the wounded man, stepping back for a fresh guard, swayed foolishly for a moment and then toppled into my arms.

“Is it serious?” asked the lieutenant, wiping his sword and looking, it seemed to me, more than a little scared.

“Wait a moment,” said I, and eased the body to the ground.  “Yes, it looks nasty.  And keep back, if you please; he has fainted.”

Being off my guard I said it in very good French, which in his agitation he luckily failed to remark.

“I had best fetch help,” said he.

“Assuredly.”

“I’ll run for one of the patrols; we’ll carry him back to the town.”

But this would not suit me at all.  “No,” I objected, “you must fetch one of your surgeons.  Meanwhile I will try to stop the bleeding; but I certainly won’t answer for it if you attempt to move him at once.”

I showed him the wound as he hurried into his tunic.  It was a long and ugly gash, but (as I had guessed) neither deep nor dangerous.  It ran from the point of the collar-bone aslant across the chest, and had the lieutenant put a little more drag into the stroke it must infallibly have snicked open the artery inside the upper arm.  As it was, my immediate business lay in frightening him off before the bleeding slackened, and my heart gave a leap when he turned and ran out of the patio, buttoning his tunic as he went.