"I cannot object, gentlemen," said the Frenchman, as he carefully measured them and weighed them in either hand. "But----" here he eloquently shrugged his shoulders. The expectant adversaries lost no time. They divested themselves of their coats and vests, and, bare-headed, each advanced to receive his weapon. The general traced two lines on the dusty earth, about eight feet apart. Barbiche and Haggard took their places. The old general stood between them, but a little to one side; he held his stick, with the point raised a little from the ground, ready to dash aside the blades the instant that blood should be drawn. "_En garde, messieurs_," exclaimed De Kerguel. Both men put themselves at once on the defensive: their blades crossed, but the attitudes were different and characteristic. Barbiche, drawing himself up to his full height, raised his left arm while standing face to face with his adversary, brought the point of his weapon close to his finger tips in salute, and then fell at once into the regulation position of the French fencing schools--the right foot well forward, both knees considerably bent, the left arm high in air, the elbow at a right angle. He kept his sword pointed at the eyes of his adversary; but he never rested for an instant. He evidently meant business. Haggard, on the contrary, assumed a totally different posture. His left arm was behind his back, the hand clenched, the right leg perfectly straight. He held the sabre lower, but the point was kept unwaveringly at the chest of his enemy; his teeth were set. On his face was that quasi-good-humoured smile, which is alike assumed by the British boxer and the British ballet-girl when exhibiting their arts. The Frenchman's blade scintillated in the setting sun around Haggard's more stiffly held weapon. As it grated against it, first on one side then on the other, Barbiche made pass after pass, feint after feint at his impassive adversary. Suddenly he sprang forward with cat-like agility, his left hand touching the ground, and he made a rapid pass from below upwards at the Englishman; his point passed dangerously near his ribs. It was the well-known extension _en seconde_; a favourite trick among Parisian swordsmen of the Romantic school. The attempt failed, and was followed by a rapid succession of miscellaneous thrusts and passes in bewildering variety. The Frenchman never withdrew his blade; but his very anxiety to make a hit was defeating itself. Such tactics with the light rapier or small-sword are doubtless correct; but Barbiche forgot the weight of his weapon, and the muscles of his arm were already beginning to tire.