"Sir Hugh Guilford!" cried Lady Mary wildly, "if you will not help him,
give me your sword!" She would have leaped to the ground, but Sir Hugh
held the door.

"Sit quiet, madam," he said to her; then, to the man on the box, "Drive
on."

"If he does, I'll kill him!" she said fiercely. "Ah, what cowards! Will
you see the Duke murdered?"

"The Duke!" laughed Guilford. "They will not kill him, unless--be easy,
dear madam, 'twill be explained. Gad's life!" he muttered to Molyneux,
"'Twere time the varlet had his lashing! D'ye hear her?"

"Barber or no barber," answered Molyneux, "I wish I had warned him. He
fights as few gentlemen could. Ah--ah! Look at that! 'Tis a shame!"

On foot, his hat gone, his white coat sadly rent and gashed, flecked,
too, with red, M. Beaucaire, wary, alert, brilliant, seemed to transform
himself into a dozen fencing-masters; and, though his skill appeared
to lie in delicacy and quickness, his play being continually with
the point, sheer strength failed to beat him down. The young man was
laughing like a child.

"Believe me," said Molyneux "he's no barber! No, and never was!"

For a moment there was even a chance that M. Beaucaire might have the
best of it. Two of his adversaries were prostrate, more than one were
groaning, and the indomitable Frenchman had actually almost beat off the