"Engage, gentlemen!" cried the colonel.
Von Bülow's sword swept through the air with a flash like lightning. But, rapid though it was, it descended in empty space. Warned by the instinct of a true fencer, the blades had barely crossed when Benedict sprang swiftly aside and remained standing unguarded, his point lowered, and his mocking smile disclosing a fine set of teeth. His adversary paused, perplexed, then swung round so as to face him, but did not immediately advance. However, feeling that this duel must be no child's play, he stepped forward and instantly the point of Benedict's sword rose menacingly against him. Involuntarily he retreated a step. Benedict now fixed his eyes upon him, circling round him, now bending to the right, now again to the left, but always keeping his weapon low and ready to strike.
The major began to feel a kind of hypnotic influence overpowering him. Determined to fight against it, he boldly stepped forward, holding his sword aloft. Instantly he felt the touch of cold steel. Benedict thrust, his rapier pierced von Bülow's shirt and reappeared on the other side. Had not the major remained standing motionless opposite him, an onlooker would have supposed he had been run through the body.
The seconds hastened up, but:
"It is nothing, I assure you," said the major.
Then, perceiving that Benedict had only intended to pierce his shirt and not himself, he added:
"Come, sir, let us continue this game in earnest."
"Ah!" said Benedict, "but you see, had I played in earnest, you would now be a dead man!"
"On guard, sir," cried von Bülow, furious, "and remember this is a duel to the death."
Benedict stepped back and saluting with his sword: