"Half the victory gone already, Vicomte!" cried the Chevalier. Madame

had addressed him as "Monsieur le Comte."

"Do not disfigure your beauty, Madame; I desire that," was the

vicomte's mocking retort. "Now, my friends, if you all would see la

belle France again! But mind; the man who strikes the Chevalier a

fatal blow shall by my own hand peg out."

In a twinkling of an eye the bright tongues of steel met, flashed,

sparkled, ground upon each other, pressed and beat down. As the full

horror of the situation came to her, madame saw the figures reel, and

there were strangling sensations in her throat and bubbling noises in

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her ears. The knife slipped from her fingers. She rocked on her

knees, sobbing. The power to pray had gone; she could only watch,

watch, watch. Ah God! if he should die before her eyes! Her hands

rose from her bosom and pressed against her cheeks. Dimly she could

hear the gonk-gonk of flying water-fowl: that murder should be done in

so fair a place!

The unequal duel went on. Presently The Fox stepped back, his arm

gashed. He cursed and took up his sword with his left hand. They

tried to lure the Chevalier from his vantage point; but he took no

step, forward or backward. He was like a wall. The old song of battle

hummed in his ears. Would that Victor were here. It would be a good

fight.

"These Pérignys are living sword blades," murmured the vicomte. "Come,

come; this must end."

They were all hardy men, the blood was rich, the eye keen, the wrist

sure; but they could not break down the Chevalier's guard. They knew

that in time they must wear him out, but time was very precious to the

vicomte. The Chevalier's point laid open the rascal's cheek, it ripped

open Frémin's forehead, it slid along Pauquet's hand. A cold smile

grew upon the Chevalier's lips and remained there. They could not

reach him. There was no room for four blades, and soon the vicomte

realized this.

"Satan of hell, back, three of you! We can gain nothing this way. Let

me have him alone for a while."

The vicomte's allies drew away, not unreluctantly; and the two engaged.

Back a little, then forward a little, lunging, parrying, always that

strange, nerve-racking noise of grating steel. It seemed to madame

that she must eventually go mad. The vicomte tried all the tricks at

his command, but to no avail; he could make no impression on the man in

the doorway. Indeed, the vicomte narrowly escaped death three or four

different times. The corporal, alive to the shade of advantage which

the Chevalier was gaining and to the disaster which would result from

the vicomte's defeat, crept slowly up from the side. Madame saw him;

but her cry of warning turned into a moan of horror. It was all over.

The Chevalier lay motionless on the ground, the blood trickling from a

ragged cut above the temple. The corporal had used the hilt of his

heavy sword, and no small power had forced the blow.




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