In obedience to this request, I went forth to the stable to procure the rapier of Ferrara steel. Upon returning with it into the room, I found that a goodly space had been cleared in the centre. Both parties to the duello were standing therein stripped of their doublets. The spectators, exceeding a score in number, were seated on settles which were ranged close to the wall. It was curious to observe the looks of mingled contempt, pity, and derision of these persons when I approached the Englishman and handed to him the Italian rapier. Some of them were unable to repress their mirth. They laughed out loudly, as though my action was the height of the ridiculous. Before I had taken the chair that was offered to me, these adversaries had crossed their swords. If I live to be an hundred years old I shall never forget the battle that ensued. At the first shock of steel against steel it was clear that each recognized in the other a foremost swordsman of the age. The knowledge did not induce fury nor any kind of excitement. It rendered them calmer, more wary, and subtle than they would have been otherwise. And the gentlemen present, each of whom, as the Count of Nullepart informed me, was a master of the sword, began soon to realize that one of their peers had come quite unexpectedly into their midst. It was not all at once that this was made clear to them. At first they regarded the contest with smiles that were merely mocking and incredulous. Naturally it seemed the extreme of presumption that such a fellow, whose manners and appearance were so barbarous, should venture to stand up with a delicate and slender Italian weapon before the first swordsman of the time. But so soon as their true blades had met, the company began to exchange significant glances one with another, and in a very little while they realized that this was no tyro who stood before them. From the first it was beautiful play. Owing to his stature, it was necessary that the Englishman should lose something of elegance in the comparison with his inimitable adversary, but, stroke and counterstroke, they were perfectly matched. The spectators inclined to the opinion at first that Monsieur du Bartas, for that was the name of their champion, the foremost in all France, was not putting forth the whole of his art; but when presently they came to perceive how easily his deftest strokes were turned aside, they began to waver. It was a long duello, yet it was one of which every phase was memorable. These two wonderfully accomplished men began to weave a spell upon their audience; and as their actions grew quicker and the finer shades of their play declared themselves, the spectators began to lean forward out of their seats, and with the loud and ringing music of the steel was mingled “bravas” and all kinds of applause.