He kept me busy
defending myself too all the time, and more than once had nearly done
for me. His audacity was astonishing, his sang froid superb, and his
perfect mastery over his sword, and his temper, sublime--he was not a
man, but a god. I could have fallen down and worshipped him. At the risk
of being spitted on his sword, I prolonged the fight as much as I dared,
so as to enjoy his marvellous, glorious, unparalleled method to the
utmost. However, there had to be an end of it, and I thought I was sure
of despatching him at last by means of a secret I possess--an infallible
and very difficult thrust, taught and bequeathed to me by the great
Girolamo of Naples, my beloved master--no man living has a knowledge
of it but myself--there is no one else left capable of executing it
to perfection, and upon that depends its success. Well, my lord duke,
Girolamo himself could not have done it better than I did to-night. I
was thunderstruck when my opponent did not go down before it as if he
had been shot. I expected to see him lying dead at my feet. But not
at all, by Jove! That devil of a Captain Fracasse parried my blow with
dazzling swiftness, and with such force that my blade was broken short
off, and I left completely at his mercy, with nothing but the stump in
my hand.
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