The use of the dagger in the duels of that day, however, rendered despair itself formidable.  And Tignonville, when he took his place, appeared anything but a mean antagonist.  He had removed his robe and cowl, and lithe and active as a cat he stood as it were on springs, throwing his weight now on this foot and now on that, and was continually in motion.  The table bearing the candles had been pushed against the window, the boarding of which had been replaced by Bigot before he left the room.  Tignonville had this, and consequently the lights, on his dagger hand; and he plumed himself on the advantage, considering his point the more difficult to follow.

Count Hannibal did not seem to notice this, however.  “Are you ready?” he asked.  And then—­

“On guard!” he cried, and he stamped the echo to the word.  But, that done, instead of bearing the other down with a headlong rush characteristic of the man—­as Tignonville feared—­he held off warily, stooping low; and when his slow opening was met by one as cautious, he began to taunt his antagonist.

“Come!” he cried, and feinted half-heartedly.  “Come, Monsieur, are we going to fight, or play at fighting?”

“Fight yourself, then!” Tignonville answered, his breath quickened by excitement and growing hope. “’Tis not I hold back!” And he lunged, but was put aside.

“Ca! ca!” Tavannes retorted; and he lunged and parried in his turn, but loosely and at a distance.

After which the two moved nearer the door, their eyes glittering as they watched one another, their knees bent, the sinews of their backs straining for the leap.  Suddenly Tavannes thrust, and leapt away, and as his antagonist thrust in return the Count swept the blade aside with a strong parry, and for a moment seemed to be on the point of falling on Tignonville with the poniard.  But Tignonville retired his right foot nimbly, which brought them front to front again.  And the younger man laughed.

“Try again, M. le Comte!” he said.  And, with the word, he dashed in himself quick as light; for a second the blades ground on one another, the daggers hovered, the two suffused faces glared into one another; then the pair disengaged again.

The blood trickled from a scratch on Count Hannibal’s neck; half an inch to the right and the point had found his throat.  And Tignonville, elated, laughed anew, and swaying from side to side on his hips, watched with growing confidence for a second chance.  Lithe as one of the leopards Charles kept at the Louvre, he stooped lower and lower, and more and more with each moment took the attitude of the assailant, watching for an opening; while Count Hannibal, his face dark and his eyes vigilant, stood increasingly on the defence.  The light was waning a little, the wicks of the candles were burning long; but neither noticed it or dared to remove his eyes from the other’s.  Their laboured breathing found an echo on the farther side of the door, but this again neither observed.