De Galisonniere was an artist with the sword himself, and he knew
swordsmanship when he saw it. He knew, too, that Lennox was but little
inferior to Willet. He saw that the older man was not sparing the youth,
that he was incessantly beating against the strongest parts of his
defense, and that he was continually seeking out his weakest. Robert was
driven around and around the room, and yet Willet did not once break
through his guard.
"Ah, beautiful! beautiful!" exclaimed the Frenchman. "I did not know
that such swordsmen could come out of the woods!"
His eyes met those of the Onondaga and for the first time he saw a gleam
in their dark depths.
"Their swords are alive," said Tayoga. "They are living streaks of
flame."
"That describes it, my friend," said de Galisonniere. "I shall be proud
to be one of the seconds of Mr. Lennox in the morning."
Willet suddenly dropped the buttoned point of his rapier and raised his
left hand.
"Enough, Robert," he said, "I can't allow you to tire yourself tonight,
and run the risk of stiffening in the wrist tomorrow.
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