"Persecutions?"
"That was my word; what other term can express unwelcome visits?"
"It were better, General Harero, that you should remember the change
which has taken place in our relative positions, of late, and not
provoke me too far."
"I spit upon and defy your authority."
"Then, sir, it shall be exercised on the morrow for your especial
benefit."
"Not by you, though," said the enraged rival, drawing his sword
suddenly, and thrusting its point towards the heart of Lorenzo
Bezan.
But the young soldier had been too often engaged in hand to hand
conflicts to lose his presence of mind, and with his uplifted arm
shrouded in his cloak, he parried the blow, with only a slight flesh
wound upon his left wrist. But General Harero had drawn blood, and
that was enough; the next moment their swords were crossed, and a
few passes were only necessary to enable Lorenzo Bezan to revenge
himself by a severe wound in his rival's left breast. Maddened by
the pain of his wound, and reckless by his anger, General Harero
pressed hard upon the young officer; but his coolness was more than
a match for his antagonist's impetuosity; and after inflicting a
severe blow upon his cheek with the flat of his sword, Lorenzo Bezan
easily disarmed him, and breaking his sword in twain, threw it upon
the steps of the Plato, and quietly walked away leaving General
Harero to settle matters between his own rage, his wounds and the
surgeon, as best he might, while he sought his own quarters within
the palace walls.
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