Willet slowly gave ground and the spectators began to applaud.

After all, Boucher was a Frenchman and one of themselves, although it was not the best of the French who were gathered there in the garden that night--except de Galisonniere and one or two others.
Robert watched the hunter and saw that his breathing was still regular and easy, and that his eye was as calm and confident as ever.

Then his own faith, shaken for a moment, returned.

Boucher was still unable to break through that guard of living steel, and when they paused a second time for breath each was still untouched.
"You are a swordsman, I'll admit that," said Boucher.
"Yes, a better than the raw lad, Gaston Lafitte, or Raoul de Bassempierre who was ill, and a better than a third whom I recall." "What do you mean, mummer ?" "There was a certain Raymond de Neville who played at dice with another whom I could name.

Neville said that the other cheated, but he was a great swordsman while Neville was but an indifferent fencer, and the other slew him.