"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
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.