De Galisonniere was an artist with the sword himself, and he knew swordsmanship when he saw it. He knew, too, that Lennox was but little inferior to Willet. He saw that the older man was not sparing the youth, that he was incessantly beating against the strongest parts of his defense, and that he was continually seeking out his weakest. Robert was driven around and around the room, and yet Willet did not once break through his guard. "Ah, beautiful! beautiful!" exclaimed the Frenchman. "I did not know that such swordsmen could come out of the woods!" His eyes met those of the Onondaga and for the first time he saw a gleam in their dark depths. "Their swords are alive," said Tayoga. "They are living streaks of flame." "That describes it, my friend," said de Galisonniere. "I shall be proud to be one of the seconds of Mr. Lennox in the morning." Willet suddenly dropped the buttoned point of his rapier and raised his left hand. "Enough, Robert," he said, "I can't allow you to tire yourself tonight, and run the risk of stiffening in the wrist tomorrow. In strength you are superior to de Mezy, and in wind far better. You should have no trouble with him. Watch his eye and stand for a while on the defensive. One of his habits, will soon wear himself down, and then he will be at your mercy." "You are a wonderful swordsman, Mr. Willet," said de Galisonniere, frank in his admiration. "I did not think such skill, such power and such a variety in attack and defense could be learned outside of Paris." "Perhaps not!" said Willet, smiling. "The greatest masters of the sword in the world teach in Paris, and it was there that I learned what I know." "What, you have been in Paris?" "Aye, Captain de Galisonniere, I know my Paris well." But he volunteered nothing further and Louis de Galisonniere's delicacy kept him from asking any more questions. Nevertheless he had an intensified conviction that three most extraordinary people had come to Quebec, and he was glad to know them. Jean de Mezy, count of France, and powerful man though he might be, was going to receive a punishment richly deserved. He detested Bigot, Cadet, Pean and all their corrupt crowd, while recognizing the fact that they were almost supreme in Quebec. It would be pleasing to the gods for de Mezy to be humiliated, and it did not matter if the humiliation came from the hands of a Bostonnais. "Would you mind trying a round or two at the foils with me?" he said to Willet. "Since you don't have to fight in the morning you needn't fear any stiffening of the wrist, and I should like to learn something about that low thrust of yours, the one well beneath your opponent's guard, and which only a movement like lightning can reach. You used it five times, unless my eye missed a sixth."