In vain Monsieur Dalboy employed every feint, every combination in his repertoire.  Rupert was always prepared, for from one or other of his teachers he had learnt the defence to be employed against each; and at last, as the master, exhausted with his exertions, flagged a little, Rupert in turn took the offensive.  Now Monsieur Dalboy’s skill stood him in equal stead to defend himself against Rupert’s rapid attacks and lightning-like passes and thrusts; and although the combat had lasted without a second’s interruption for nearly a quarter of an hour, neither combatant had touched the other.

At last Rupert saw by his opponent’s eye that a new and special combination was about to be put into action against him, and he instantly steadied himself to resist it.  It came with the rapidity of thought, but Rupert recognized it by the first pass as the very last combination which Monsieur Dessin had taught him, assuring him at the time that he would find it irresistible, for that there were not three men in Europe acquainted with it.  He met the attack then with the defence which Monsieur Dessin had showed him to be the sure escape, ending with a wrench which nearly tore the sword from the hand of his opponent.

Monsieur Dalboy sprang back on guard, with a look of profound astonishment; and then throwing down his foil, he threw himself, in the impetuous manner of his countrymen, on Rupert’s neck, and embraced him.

“Mon dieu! mon dieu!” he exclaimed, “You are incroyable, you are a miracle.

“Gentlemen,” he said, turning to those present, when the burst of enthusiastic applause which greeted the conclusion of this extraordinary contest subsided, “you see in this young gentleman one of the finest swordsmen in Europe.  I do not say the finest, for he has not touched me, and having no idea of his force I extended myself rashly at first; but I may say he is my equal.  Never but once have I crossed swords with such a fencer, and I doubt if even he was as strong.  His parry to my last attack was miraculous.  It was a coup invented by myself, and brought to perfection with that one I speak of.  I believed no one else knew it, and have ever reserved it for a last extremity; but his defence, even to the last wrench, which would have disarmed any other man but myself, and even me had I not known that it should have come then, was perfect; it was astounding.

“This maitre of yours—­this Monsieur Dessin,” he went on, turning to Rupert, “must be a wonder.

“Ah!” he said suddenly, and as if to himself; “c’est bien possible!  What was he like, this Monsieur Dessin?”

“He is tall, and slight except as to his shoulders, where he is very broad.”

“And he has a little scar here, has he not?” the fencing master said, pointing to his temple.

“Yes,” Rupert said, surprised; “I have often noticed it.”

“Then it is he,” Monsieur Dalboy said, “the swordsman of whom I spoke.  No wonder you parried my coup.  I had wondered what had become of him.  And you know him as Monsieur Dessin?  And he teaches fencing?”