"Neither should I, my lad," said the doctor calmly; "but you need not fear doing that. Come on, I tell you. There, I'm not speaking boastingly, Denis, my lad. I am no master of fence, but I can do precisely what I please with your weapon, disarm you at every encounter, or turn your point whichever way I choose. There: you see." For nettled by his words, and in a futile effort to prove that they were untrue, the lad attacked sharply once again, made about a dozen passes, to find himself perfectly helpless in his adversary's hands, and at last stopped short, lowered his point to the floor, and stood with both hands resting on the hilt. "You are right, sir," he said. "It's horrible. I thought I could; but I can't fence a bit." At that moment there was a sharp click of the outer door, and the doctor hurriedly began to sheathe his rapier, but not quickly enough for his action to be unseen. The arras was thrown aside, and a tall handsome young cavalier strode into the ante-chamber and stopped short in astonishment. "Words and wonder!" he cried. "A duel? or young Denis defending his Majesty from an attempted assassination on the part of Master Leoni with a sword instead of physic?" "Does it ever occur to you, Saint Simon, that your tongue runs at times somewhat too fast?" said the doctor coldly. "Oh yes, often," was the laughing reply; "but it's a habit it has. What have I interrupted, though?" "Master Leoni was giving me a fencing lesson, Saint Simon," cried the lad eagerly. "Then you are the luckiest fellow at Court," cried the new arrival. "Why was I not here? There, pray go on, and let me stand by and learn." CHAPTER THREE. HIS MAJESTY. Denis glanced at the doctor, grasping his hilt tightly the while, and ready to spring into position for a fresh encounter; but at the same moment he noted the change which came over his adversary, who from being tense, erect and active, suddenly seemed to grow limp of body, though his face was more animated than ever. He hung his head till his chin rested upon his chest, his eyes literally flashed, and he gazed up through his bushy brows at the young courtier who had just joined them, while for answer to his request he slowly finished sheathing his rapier and then took his heavy gown from where he had thrown it upon a chair, and held it out to Denis. "Help me," he said. "I am growing old and stiff." The lad looked at him wonderingly as he recalled the marvellous activity of a few minutes earlier, and then helped his instructor to resume his garment. "What!" cried Saint Simon warmly. "You will not go on? Why, doctor, I want to learn." The doctor gave him a peculiar, double sinister look, and said, with his unpleasant smile playing about his thin lips: "The time to bend and train the wand is while it is young and green. You, sir, have grown too old and tough and stubborn to learn." "At five and twenty?" cried the young man, flushing.