"Coulez! Mais, coulez donc!.... So! Now the flanconnade - en
carte.... And here is the riposte.... Let us begin again. Come!
The ward of fierce.... Make the coupe, and then the quinte par dessus
les armes.... O, mais allongez! Allongez! Allez au fond!" the voice
cried in expostulation. "Come, that was better." The blades ceased.
"Remember: the hand in pronation, the elbow not too far out. That
will do for to-day. On Wednesday we shall see you tirer au mur.
It is more deliberate. Speed will follow when the mechanism of the
movements is more assured."
Another voice murmured in answer. The steps moved aside. The
lesson was at an end. Andre-Louis tapped on the door.
It was opened by a tall, slender, gracefully proportioned man of
perhaps forty. Black silk breeches and stockings ending in light
shoes clothed him from the waist down. Above he was encased to the
chin in a closely fitting plastron of leather, His face was aquiline
and swarthy, his eyes full and dark, his mouth firm and his clubbed
hair was of a lustrous black with here and there a thread of silver
showing.
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