found that curious sixth sense, which is a combination of touch, sight,
apprehension, divination. They had scarcely made half a dozen passes
before each knew that he was pitted against a master of the art--an art
partly lost in an age which better loves the talk of swords than the
handling of them. But the advantage was with Iberville, not merely
because of more practice,--Gering made up for that by a fine certainty
of nerve,--but because he had a prescient quality of mind, joined to the
calculation of the perfect gamester.

From the first Iberville played a waiting game. He knew Gering's
impulsive nature, and he wished to draw him on, to irritate him, as only
one swordsman can irritate another. Gering suddenly led off with a
disengage from the carte line into tierce, and, as he expected, met the
short parry and riposte. Gering tried by many means to draw Iberville's
attack, and, failing to do so, played more rapidly than he ought, which
was what Iberville wished.

Presently Iberville's chance came. In the carelessness of annoyance,
Gering left part of his sword arm uncovered, while he was meditating a
complex attack, and he paid the penalty by getting a sharp prick from
Iberville's sword-point. The warning came to Gering in time. When they
crossed swords again, Iberville, whether by chance or by momentary want
of skill, parried Gering's disengage from tierce to carte on to his own
left shoulder.

Both had now got a taste of blood, and there is nothing like that to put
the lust of combat into a man. For a moment or two the fight went on
with no special feat, but so hearty became the action that Iberville,
seeing Gering flag a little,--due somewhat to loss of blood, suddenly
opened such a rapid attack on the advance that it was all Gering could do