Always the flashing steel was turned aside, and the hunter, cool, patient and wary, looked like one who, in absolute faith, bided his time.
A gasp came from the spectators.

The omens had foretold something unusual, but here was more than they had expected or had hoped.

The greatest swordsman whom France could send forth had been checked and held by an unknown hunter, by a Bostonnais, among whom one would not look for swordsmanship.

They stopped for breath and Boucher from under his dark brows stared at the hunter.
"Mummer," he said.

"You claim to know something of me.