The air was keen, the sun shining brightly. Laguitte had almost to
be carried to the ground; one of his seconds supported him on one side,
while on the other he leaned heavily, on his stick. Burle looked half
asleep; his face was puffy with unhealthy fat, as if he had spent a
night of debauchery. Not a word was spoken. They were all anxious to
have it over.
Captain Doucet crossed the swords of the two adversaries and then drew
back, saying: "Set to, gentlemen."
Burle was the first to attack; he wanted to test Laguitte's strength and
ascertain what he had to expect. For the last ten days the encounter had
seemed to him a ghastly nightmare which he could not fathom. At times a
hideous suspicion assailed him, but he put it aside with terror, for it
meant death, and he refused to believe that a friend could play him such
a trick, even to set things right. Besides, Laguitte's leg reasssured
him; he would prick the major on the shoulder, and then all would be
over.
During well-nigh a couple of minutes the swords clashed, and then the
captain lunged, but the major, recovering his old suppleness of wrist,
parried in a masterly style, and if he had returned the attack Burle
would have been pierced through.
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