northern barbarians whom the Romans loved to pit against their native
champions in the arena. He was the greater because of the opponent he
faced, and it was upon this opponent that the eyes of Father
Anthony centered.

Like Father Victor, he was caught first by the bright hair. It was a
dark red, and where the light struck it strongly there were places
like fire. Down from this hair the light slipped like running water
over a lithe body, slender at the hips, strong-chested, round and
smooth of limb, with long muscles leaping and trembling at every move.

He, like the big fighter, circled cautiously about, but the impression
he gave was as different from the other as day is from night. His head
was carried high; in place of a scowl, he smiled with a sort of
eagerness, a light which was partly exultation and partly mischief
sparkled in his eyes. Once or twice the giant caught at the other, but
David slipped from under the grip of Goliath easily. It seemed as if
his skin were oiled. The big man snarled with anger, and lunged more
eagerly at Pierre.

The two, abandoning their feints, suddenly rushed together, and the
swarthy arms of the monster slipped around the white body of Pierre.
For a moment they whirled, twisting and struggling.

"Now!" murmured Father Victor; and as if in answer to a command,
Pierre slipped down, whipped his hands to a new grip, and the two
crashed to the mat, with Pierre above.

"Open your eyes, Father Anthony. The lad is safe. How Goliath grunts!"
The boy had not cared to follow his advantage, but rose and danced