And he was doubly rejoiced, first at the praise, and then because he had given answer, for only the most famed among swordsmen could let himself speak in time of a duel, and polite conversation was considered moreover as the acme of courtesy. All this increased Stanislav in his own eyes. Hence he pressed forward again with good feeling. But after some fresh blows he was forced to acknowledge in spirit that Tachevski surpassed him. Yatsek defended himself as it seemed with unwillingness but very easily, and in general he acted as though engaged not in fighting, but in fencing for exercise. Clearly, he wished to convince himself as to what Stanislav knew, and as to how much better he was than the brothers, and when he had done this with accuracy he felt at last sure of his own case. Stanislav noted this also, hence delight left him, and he struck with more passion. Tachevski then twisted himself as if he had had enough of amusement, gave the "feigned" blow, pressed on and sprang aside after a moment. "Thou hast got it!" said he. Stanislav felt, as it were, a cold sting in the arm, but he answered,-- "Go on. That is nothing!" And he cut again, that same moment the point of Yatsek's sabre laid his lower lip open and cut the skin under it. Yatsek sprang aside now a second time. "Thou art bleeding!" said he. "That is nothing!" "Glory to God if 'tis nothing! But I have had plenty, and here is my hand for you. You have acted like a genuine cavalier." Stanislav greatly roused, but pleased also at these words, stood for a moment, as if undecided whether to make peace or fight longer. At last he sheathed his sabre and gave his hand then to Yatsek. "Let it be so. In truth, as it seems, I am bleeding." He touched his chin with his left hand and looked at the blood with much wonder. It had colored his palm and his fingers abundantly. "Hold snow on the wound to keep it from swelling," said Yatsek, "and go to the sleigh now." So speaking he took Stanislav by the arm and conducted him to the Bukoyemskis, who looked at him silently, somewhat astonished, but also confounded. Yatsek roused real respect in them, not only as a master with the sabre, but as a man of "lofty manners," such manners precisely as they themselves needed. So after a while this inquiry was made of Stanislav by Mateush,-- "How is it with thee, O Stashko?" "Well. I might go on foot," was the answer, "but I choose the sleigh, the journey will be quicker." Yatsek sat toward them sidewise, and cried to the driver,-- "To Vyrambki." "Whither?" asked Stanislav.