Without
stopping to dispute the cloak with his assailant, whom he mistook at
first for an ordinary foot-pad, de Sigognac instantly drew his sword
and attacked him. Lampourde, on his side, was ready for him, and pleased
with the baron's way of handling his weapon, said to himself, though in
an audible tone, "Now for a little fun." Then began a contest that would
have delighted and astonished a connoisseur in fencing--such swift,
lightning-like flashing of the blades, as they gave and parried cut and
thrust--the clashing of the steel, the blue sparks that leaped from the
contending swords as the fight grew more furious--Lampourde keeping up
meanwhile an odd running commentary, as his wonder and admiration grew
momentarily greater and more enthusiastic, and he had soon reached an
exulting mood. Here at last was a "foeman worthy of his steel," and he
could not resist paying a tribute to the amazing skill that constantly
and easily baffled his best efforts, in the shape of such extraordinary
and original compliments that de Sigognac was mightily amused thereby.
As usual, he was perfectly cool and self-possessed, keeping control of
his temper as well as of his sword--though by this time he felt sure
that it was another agent of the Duke of Vallombreuse's he had to deal
with, and that his life, not his cloak, was the matter at stake.
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