“'Move a little, a very little, to the left; there's a shadow from that tree. Can you see me well?' said I. “'Perfectly; are you ready? Well; _en garde!_' “Piccotin's forte, I soon saw, lay in the long meditated attack, where each movement was part of an artfully devised series; and I perceived that he suffered his adversary to gain several trifling advantages, by way of giving him a false confidence, biding his own time to play off the scores. In this description of fence he was more than my equal. _My_ strength was in the skirmishing passages, where most men lunge at random; then, no matter how confused the rally, I was as cool as in the salute. “For some time I permitted him to play his game out; and certainly nothing could be more beautiful than his passes over the hilt. Twice he planted his point within an inch of my bosom; and nothing but a spring backwards would have saved me. “At length, after a long-contested struggle, he made a feint within, and then without, the guard, and succeeded in touching my sword-arm, above the wrist. “'A touch, I believe,' said he. “'A mere nothing,' said I; for although I felt the blood running down my sleeve, and oozing between my fingers, I was annoyed to think he had made the first hit. “'Ah, François, these Mamelukes were not of the première force, after all. I have only been jesting all this time; see here.' With that he closed on me, in a very different style from his former attack. Pushing and parrying with the rapidity of lightning, he evinced a skill in 'skirmish' I did not believe him possessed of. In this, however, I was his master; and in a few seconds gave him my point sharply, but not deeply, in the shoulder. Instead of dropping his weapon when he received mine, he returned the thrust. I parried it, and touched him again, a little lower down. He winced this time, and muttered something I could not catch. 'You shall have it now,' said he, aloud; 'I owe you this,--and this.' True to his word, he twice pierced me in the back, outside the guard. Encouraged by success, he again closed on me; while I, piqued by his last assault, advanced to meet him. “Our tempers were both excited; but his far more than mine. The struggle was a severe one. Three several times his blade passed between my arm and my body; and at last after a desperate rally, he dropped on one knee, and gave me the point here, beneath the chest. Before he could extricate his blade, I plunged mine into his chest, and pushed till I heard the hilt come clink against his ribs. The blood spurted upwards, over my face and breast, as he fell backwards. I wiped it hurriedly from my eyes, and bent over him. He gave a shudder and a little faint moan, and all was still.” “You killed him?” cried out three or four of us together.