The fight began with a few light thrusts and parries that on each side were only trials of the other’s skill. Then of a sudden De Marsac unleashed a savage attack. His sword came darting in like the fangs of a snake with the point directed towards André’s heart. A part of a second and it would have been too late, but my brother, who, I saw, was making sure of his defense, swung his weapon to the side and caught his enemy’s blade, steel against steel. The swords locked at the pommels like the horns of deer and for a second the two stood glaring into each other’s eyes. It was here that André’s sturdiness showed itself, for it was a test of the one man’s brawn against the other’s. My brother’s jaws came together with determination. The veins in his neck swelled. He raised himself slowly on the balls of his feet and pressed forward with all his might. A cold look came into De Marsac’s eyes and a frown crossed his forehead. I saw him go back little by little on his heels. His arm was bending in towards his body. André took a step forward and our enemy to save himself from being thrown off his balance sprang quickly backwards. De Marsac began anew. His smile of confidence faded into seriousness. He tried again with a few feints to find an opening in my brother’s defense. Each time he was blocked with neatness and surety. Each time he drew back with a scowl. The color in his face gave way to a pallid white. His breath came short. But there was a look of gathering hate on his countenance and a shifting expression in his eyes that roused me in alarm. “Look out for a trick, André!” It was foolish for me to cry out. It is no thing to do when men are in a conflict that means life or death, for in the second when he heard my voice, my brother shot a look towards me that told me as plainly as words that he knew what he was about. But I had given De Marsac his opportunity. In that brief moment when my brother’s eyes were turned, our enemy sprang forward with the quickness of a tiger. The light of the candles ran like a flash along his blade. His arm, the sleeve of black velvet and fancy lace, straightened itself in the direction of my brother’s chest. But for the terror that I felt, I would have closed my eyes, for in the next breath I expected to see André fall. But instead he showed a nimbleness that I never dreamed was his. Like a spring he was down and up again. By the breath of a hair De Marsac’s weapon passed over his shoulder. Our enemy’s body was open for the fatal blow and my brother, heated with the conflict, wrapped his knuckles about his sword to strike his insulter to his feet. His sword came forward. He had put one foot before the other to drive home the blow with all the might that lay in him. The point caught De Marsac in the middle of the chest as straight as ever a thrust was aimed and, I am sure with as much power behind it as any average man can put.