Robert watched the hunter and saw that his breathing was still regular
and easy, and that his eye was as calm and confident as ever. Then his
own faith, shaken for a moment, returned. Boucher was still unable to
break through that guard of living steel, and when they paused a second
time for breath each was still untouched.
"You are a swordsman, I'll admit that," said Boucher.
"Yes, a better than the raw lad, Gaston Lafitte, or Raoul de
Bassempierre who was ill, and a better than a third whom I recall."
"What do you mean, mummer?"
"There was a certain Raymond de Neville who played at dice with another
whom I could name. Neville said that the other cheated, but he was a
great swordsman while Neville was but an indifferent fencer, and the
other slew him. Yet, they say Neville's charges were true. Shall I name
that man, Boucher?"
Boucher, livid with rage, sprang at him.
"Mummer!" he cried. "You know too much. I'll close your mouth forever!"
Now it seemed to Boucher that a very demon of the sword stood before
him.
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