We already know that Don Luis had never wielded a weapon in his life. Fortunately the count, although he had never studied theology, or entertained the purpose of becoming a priest, was not much more skilled than he in the art of handling the broadsword.
The only roles laid down for the duel were that, their sabers once in hand, each of the combatants should use his weapon as Heaven might best direct him.
The door of the apartment was closed. The tables and chairs were placed in a corner, to leave a free field for the combatants, and the lights were suitably disposed.
Don Luis and the count divested themselves of their coats and waistcoats, remaining in their shirt-sleeves, and selected, each one, his weapon. The seconds stood on one side. At a signal from the captain, the combat began. Between two persons who know neither how to parry a stroke nor how to put themselves on guard, a combat must of necessity be brief; and such this one was.
The fury of the count, restrained for some time past, now burst forth and blinded his reason. He was strong, and he had wrists of steel; and he showered down on Don Luis, with his saber, a rain of blows without order or sequence. Four times he succeeded in touching Don Luis--each time, fortunately, with the flat of his weapon. He bruised his shoulders, but did not wound him. The young theologian had need of all his strength to keep from falling to the floor, overcome by the force of the blows and the pain of his bruises. A fifth time the count struck Don Luis, and this time with the edge of his weapon, although sidewise. The blood of Don Luis began to flow abundantly. Far from stopping, the count resumed the attack with renewed fury, in the hope of again wounding his antagonist. He almost placed himself under the weapon of Don Luis. The latter, instead of putting himself in position to parry, brought his sword down vigorously on his adversary, and succeeded in wounding the count in the head. The blood gushed forth, and ran down his forehead and into his eyes. Stunned by the blow, the count fell heavily to the floor.
The whole combat was a matter of a few seconds. Don Luis had remained tranquil throughout, like a Stoic philosopher, who is obliged by the hard law of necessity to take part in a conflict opposed alike to his habits and his ways of thought. But no sooner did he see his antagonist extended on the floor, bathed in blood and looking as though he were dead, than he experienced the most poignant anguish, and feared for a moment that he should faint. He who, until within the last five or six hours, had held unwaveringly to his resolution of being a priest, a missionary, a minister and a messenger of the gospel, had committed, or accused himself of having committed, during those few hours, every crime, and of breaking all the commandments of God. There was now no mortal sin by which he was not contaminated. First, his purpose of leading a life of perfect and heroic holiness had been put to flight; then followed his purpose of leading a life of holiness of a more easy, comfortable, and _bourgeois_ sort. The devil seemed to please himself in over-throwing his plans. He reflected that he could now no longer be even a Christian Philemon, for to lay his neighbor's head open with a stroke of a saber was not a very good beginning of his idyl.