The artist stood with his body thrown backward, his legs on a tension, his chin buried up to his moustache in the fur collar of his coat, with whip lowered, watching all his adversary's movements with a steady eye.

When he saw the carpenter advancing toward him, he raised his arm and gave him on the left side a second lash from his whip, so vigorously applied that the workman beat a retreat once more, rubbing his hands and roaring: "Thunder! I'll finish you--" He put his hands in his trousers' pockets and drew out one of those large iron compasses such as carpenters use, and opened it with a rapid movement.

He then seized it in the centre and was thus armed with a sort of double-pointed stiletto, which he brandished with a threatening gesture.
Marillac, at this sight, drew back a few paces, passed his whip to his left hand and, arming himself with his Corsican poniard, placed himself in a position of defence.
"My friend," said he, with perfect deliberation, "my needle is shorter than yours, but it pricks better.

If you take one step nearer me, if you raise your hand, I will bleed you like a wild boar." Seeing the firm attitude of the artist, whose solid figure seemed to denote rather uncommon vigor, and whose moustache and sparkling eyes gave him a rather formidable aspect at this moment; above all, when he saw the large, sharp blade of the poniard, Lambernier stopped.
"By the gods!" exclaimed Marillac, who saw that his bold looks had produced their effect, "you are a Provencal, and I a Gascon.

You have a quick hand, comrade--" "But, by Jove! you are the one who has the quick hand; you struck me with your whip as if I had been a horse.