"I call you all to witness once again," said Boucher, "that this quarrel
was forced upon me, and that I had no wish to slay a wandering hunter
of the Bostonnais."
Willet made no reply for the present. He took his position and Boucher
took his. The seconds gave the word, their swords clashed together, and
they stepped back, each looking for an opening in the other's guard.
Then it dawned upon the bravo that a swordsman stood before him. But he
had not the slightest fear. He knew his own skill and strength.
"It's strange that a hunter should know anything about the sword," he
said, "but it seems that you do and the fact pleases me much. I would
not have it said that I cut down an ignorant man."
"And yet it might be said," replied the hunter. "Do you remember the
boy, Gaston Lafitte, whom you fought behind the Luxembourg near twenty
years ago?"
The face of Boucher suddenly went deathly white, and, for a moment, he
trembled.
"Who are you, you mumming hunter?" he cried. "I know no Gaston Lafitte.
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