The use of the dagger in the duels of that day, however, rendered despair
itself formidable. And Tignonville, when he took his place, appeared
anything but a mean antagonist. He had removed his robe and cowl, and
lithe and active as a cat he stood as it were on springs, throwing his
weight now on this foot and now on that, and was continually in motion.
The table bearing the candles had been pushed against the window, the
boarding of which had been replaced by Bigot before he left the room.
Tignonville had this, and consequently the lights, on his dagger hand;
and he plumed himself on the advantage, considering his point the more
difficult to follow.
Count Hannibal did not seem to notice this, however. "Are you ready?" he
asked. And then--
"On guard!" he cried, and he stamped the echo to the word. But, that
done, instead of bearing the other down with a headlong rush
characteristic of the man--as Tignonville feared--he held off warily,
stooping low; and when his slow opening was met by one as cautious, he
began to taunt his antagonist.
"Come!" he cried, and feinted half-heartedly. "Come, Monsieur, are we
going to fight, or play at fighting?"
"Fight yourself, then!" Tignonville answered, his breath quickened by
excitement and growing hope. "'Tis not I hold back!" And he lunged, but
was put aside.
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