his spirit then that a groan escaped him. I answered with a laugh--my mood
was lusty and cruel--and thrust at him. Then, eluding his guard, I thrust
again, beneath it, and took him fairly in the middle of his doublet.

He staggered, dropped his rapier, and caught at the railings, where for a
moment he hung swaying and gasping. Then his head fell forward, his grip
relaxed, and swooning he sank down into a heap.

A dozen sprang to his aid, foremost amongst them being St. Auban and
Montmédy, whilst I drew back, suddenly realising my own spent condition, to
which the heat of the combat had hitherto rendered me insensible. I
mastered myself as best I might, and, dissembling my hard breathing, I
wiped my blade with a kerchief, an act which looked so calm and callous
that it drew from the crowd--for a crowd it had become by then--an angry
growl. 'T is thus with the vulgar; they are ever ready to sympathise with
the vanquished without ever pausing to ask themselves if his chastisement
may not be merited.

In answer to the growl I tossed my head, and sheathing my sword I flung the
bloodstained kerchief into their very midst. The audacity of the gesture
left them breathless, and they growled no more, but stared.

Then that outrageous fop, Vilmorin, who had been bending over Canaples,
started up and coming towards me with a face that was whiter than that of
the prostrate man, he proved himself so utterly bereft of wit by terror
that for once he had the temerity to usurp the words and actions of a brave
man.

"You have murdered him!" he cried in a strident voice, and thrusting his
clenched fist within an inch of my face. "Do you hear me, you knave? You