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"Will not this string of swords serve the turn?" he said, and pointed with a dirty, well-shaped hand to the six long rapiers that hung against the wall behind them. The Italian, Faenza, began to laugh a little, quiet, teasing laugh; the sullen Biscayan, Pinto, patted el Matador on the back; Joel de Jurgan the Breton, stared stolidly; and Saldagno the Portuguese, refreshed himself with a drink.
Staupitz made an apologetic gesture. "Only once in twelve times." Lagardere turned to Saldagno, Pepe, and Pinto. "Ah, my bandits of Madrid, who tried me, three to one." Saldagno was more apologetic than Staupitz, with a Latin profusion of gesture, as he explained: "That was for a wager, captain." Lagardere shrugged his shoulders. "Which you did not win." He turned to Joel de Jurgan.
This Lagardere of yours was the only one whom I had any difficulty in overcoming." Cocardasse gave an ironic snort. It was evident that he did not in the least believe the latter part of Faenza's narrative. Joel de Jurgan took up the thread of reminiscence. "If your Lagardere be the same as the man I am thinking of," he said, "I came across him a couple of years ago at the fair of Neuilly.
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