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The lesser rascal rose from the prostrate woman. “Finished, my captain,–” he began. Against the forest verdure he made an excellent mark. John Bulmer shot him neatly through the head.

Startled by the detonation, the Friar and the man in green-and-russet wheeled about to find Mr. Bulmer, with his most heroical bearing, negligently replacing the discharged pistol. The woman lay absolutely still, face downward, in a clump of fern.

“Gentlemen,” said John Bulmer, “I lament that your sylvan diversions should be thus interrupted by the fact that an elderly person like myself, quite old enough to know better, has seen fit to adopt the pursuit of knight-errantry. You need not trouble yourselves about your companion, for I have blown out most of the substance nature intended him to think with. One of you, I regret to observe, is rendered immune by the garb of an order which I consider misguided, indeed, but with which I have no quarrel. With the other I beg leave to request the honor of exchanging a few passes as the recumbent lady’s champion.”

“Sacred blue!” remarked the bearded man; “you presume to oppose, then, of all persons, me! You fool, I am Achille Cazaio!”

“I deplore the circumstance that I am not overwhelmed by the revelation,” John Bulmer said, as he dismounted, “and I entreat you to bear in mind, friend Achille, that in Poictesme I am a stranger. And, unhappily, the names of many estimable persons have not an international celebrity.” Thus speaking, he drew and placed himself on guard.

With a shrug the Friar turned and reseated himself upon the stone. He appeared a sensible man. But Cazaio flashed out a long sword and hurled himself upon John Bulmer.

Cazaio thus obtained a butcherly thrust in the shoulder, “Friend Achille,” said John Bulmer, “that was tolerably severe for a first hit. Does it content you?”

The hairy man raged. “Eh, my God!” Cazaio shrieked, “do you mock me, you misbegotten one! Before you can give me such another I shall have settled you outright. Already hell gapes for you. Fool, I am Achille Cazaio!”

“Yes, yes, you had mentioned that,” said his opponent. “And, in return, allow me to present Mr. John Bulmer, thoroughly enjoying himself for the first time in a quarter of a century, Angelo taught me this thrust. Can you parry it, friend Achille?” Mr. Bulmer cut open the other’s forehead.

“Well done!” Cazaio grunted. He attacked with renewed fury, but now the blood was streaming down his face and into his eyes in such a manner that he was momentarily compelled to carry his hand toward his countenance in order to wipe away the heavy trickle. John Bulmer lowered his point.

“Friend Achille, it is not reasonable I should continue our engagement to its dénouement, since by that boastful parade of skill I have inadvertently turned you into a blind man. Can you not stanch your wound sufficiently to make possible a renewal of our exercise on somewhat more equal terms?”

“Not now,” the other replied, breathing heavily,–“not now, Monsieur Bulmaire. You have conquered, and the woman is yours. Yet lend me my life for a little till I may meet you more equitably. I will not fail you,–I swear it–I, Achille Cazaio.”

“Why, God bless my soul!” said John Bulmer, “do you imagine that I am forming a collection of vagrant females? Permit me, pray, to assist you to your horse. And if you would so far honor me as to accept the temporary loan of my handkerchief–“

Solicitously Mr. Bulmer bound up his opponent’s head, and more lately aided him to mount one of the grazing horses. Cazaio was moved to say:

“You are a gallant enemy, Monsieur Bulmaire. I shall have the pleasure of cutting your throat on Thursday next, if that date be convenient to you.”

“Believe me,” said John Bulmer, “I am always at your disposal. Let this spot, then, be our rendezvous, since I am wofully ignorant concerning your local geography. And meantime, my friend, if I may be so bold, I would suggest a little practice in parrying. You are of Boisrobert’s school, I note, and in attack undeniably brilliant, whereas your defence–unvarying defect of Boisrobert’s followers!–is lamentably weak.”