Each time that Borromee gave an order, Gorenflot repeated it, adding: "Brother Borromee is right; but I told you all that yesterday.

Pass the pike from one hand to the other! Raise it to the level of the eye!" "You are a skillful instructor," said Chicot.
"Yes, I understand it well." "And Borromee an apt pupil." "Oh, yes! he is very intelligent." While the monks went through their exercises, Gorenflot said, "You shall see my little Jacques." "Who is Jacques ?" "A nice lad, calm-looking, but strong, and quick as lightning.

Look, there he is with a musket in his hand, about to fire." "And he fires well." "That he does." "But stay--" "Do you know him ?" "No; I thought I did, but I was wrong." While they spoke, Jacques loaded a heavy musket, and placing himself at one hundred yards from the mark, fired, and the ball lodged in the center, amid the applause of the monks.
"That was well done!" cried Chicot.
"Thank you, monsieur," said Jacques, whose cheeks colored with pleasure.
"You manage your arms well," added Chicot.
"I study, monsieur." "But he is best at the sword," said Gorenflot; "those who understand it, say so, and he is practicing from morning till night." "Ah! let us see," said Chicot.
"No one here, except perhaps myself, is capable of fencing with him; but will you try him yourself, monsieur ?" said Borromee.
"I am but a poor bourgeois," said Chicot; "formerly I have used my sword like others, but now my legs tremble and my arm is weak." "But you practice still ?" "A little," replied Chicot, with a smile.

"However, you, Brother Borromee, who are all muscle and tendon, give a lesson to Brother Jacques, I beg, if the prior will permit it." "I shall be delighted," cried Gorenflot.
The two combatants prepared for the trial.

Borromee had the advantage in height and experience.