"What are you going to do, Monsieur Émile?" cried the old man, briskly. "Do you mean to expose yourself to great danger for a cause which in truth is indifferent to you, and only concerns me?" "Come," said he, shrugging his shoulders, "are we not fellow countrymen? Your cause is mine. Let me give a lesson to that Spanish braggart, who imagines that Frenchmen are poltroons." And, without wishing to hear more, he disengaged his foot from the stirrup, leaped to the ground, drew his sabre, and struck its point in the earth, waiting the good pleasure of his adversary. "But, at least, do you know how to fight?" cried M. Dubois, a prey to the greatest anxiety. "You are joking," said he, laughing. "Of what use would be the five-and-twenty years' war that France has had, if her sons had not learnt to fight? But make yourself easy," added he, seriously, "I have had eighteen months' instruction in sword exercise, and learned to wield the sabre like a hussar; moreover, we artists know this sort of thing by instinct." Meanwhile, the captain had also alighted, after having ordered his troop to remain spectators of the combat. The horsemen had shaken their heads; they had, however, not made any remark, but the old sergeant, of whom we have spoken, and who, without doubt, enjoyed certain liberties with his chief, took a few steps in advance, and thought proper to hazard a respectful protest. The captain, without answering him, made him a mute gesture of a character so decided and imperious, that the worthy soldier stepped back quite snubbed, and resumed his former position without daring to risk a second remonstrance. "Never mind," he grumbled, between his teeth, twirling his moustache with a furious air; "if this heretic gets the best of it, whatever Don Lucio may say, I know well what I shall do." The young captain briskly alighted, and advanced towards his adversary, whom he saluted politely. "I am fortunate," said he, graciously, "in the opportunity which presents itself of receiving from a Frenchman a lesson in fencing, for you have the reputation of being a complete master in arms." "Eh! Perhaps what you say is more true than you think, Señor," answered the painter, with a smile of raillery; "but if service fails us sometimes, goodwill never forsakes us." "I am convinced of it, Monsieur." "Whenever you please to commence, Captain, I am at your orders." "And I at yours, Señor." The two adversaries saluted one another with the sabre, and put themselves on guard at the same moment, with perfect grace. The sabre is, in our opinion, an arm too much disdained, and which ought, on the contrary, to have the preference over the sword in duels, as it has in battles. The sabre is the true weapon of the military man--officer or soldier. The sword is, on the contrary, only an arm for a gentleman on parade, and is now assumed by persons who, for the most part, carry it at their sides without knowing how to use it.