Terence O'Rourke, Gentleman Adventurer
O'Rourke affected an extreme air of surprise.
"Ye have scruples, then?" he gibed.
But already Georges' face had become masklike, expressionless—the face of a professional gambler about to fleece a dupe.
"'Twill be hard to rattle him, I'm thinking," said O'Rourke to himself. Aloud, "Since we waive code etiquette, monsieur," he announced, "I am ready."
Monsieur le Prince saluted silently, and put himself on guard simultaneously with the Irishman's guard.
Their blades slithered, clashed, striking a clear, bell-like note in the otherwise deathly silence that obtained within the lodge.
Chambret and Charles advanced cautiously from their walls, watching the crossed swords with an eternal vigilance, their own weapons alert to strike them up at the first suspicion of a foul on either side.
For a moment the two combatants remained almost motionless, endeavoring each to divine his antagonist's method, striving each to solve the secret of his opponent's maturing campaign.
Then, looking straight into the prince's eyes, "Come, come!" invited O'Rourke. "Have ye lost heart entirely, man? Don't keep me waiting all day."
Georges made no reply save by a lightning-like lunge, which O'Rourke parried imperturbably.
"Clever," he admitted cheerfully. "But too sudden, Monsieur le Prince. More carefully another time, if ye please."
Again he parried, riposting smartly; the point of his rapier rang loudly upon the guard of the prince's.
"Careful, careful," warned O'Rourke, gaining a step or two.
[ 238 ]
