"Dieu des Dieux!" whispered La Truaumont between pale lips, "it must be done. It will fall to me to do it. Yet the pity of it! He is a young lion and brave as a lion, too; one who, if it is not for me, will have put that luron out of the world for ever ere another moment is past. And I am a gentleman, yet must now stoop to be a murderer. I cannot. I cannot. I, Georges du Hamel, Sieur de la Truaumont! I, to become a murderer!"

In truth, the scene was a weird one on which the pale, trembling man gazed; that man who, in all his adventurous career, had never known what it was to tremble at the most terrible of impending catastrophes: that man who had looked on tremblings and qualms as fit only for women and puling children.

A weird scene, added to and made doubly so by the sickly rays emitted from the lantern behind whose dirty, horn encasement a guttering rush-light burned. Added to, also, in weirdness by the whimpering of the frightened animals who were startled by the clash of steel, and by the grunts of Fleur de Mai as he fought desperately while knowing, feeling sure, that his hour--his moment--was come, and by the occasional contemptuous ejaculations of Humphrey as he bade his opponent take courage since it was but the first bite of the blade which was agony, and to utter a prayer if he knew one.

By now Humphrey had driven the bully into a vacant stall and, having him there, had ceased to lunge at him, but, instead, with his blade crossed over the other's was slowly but surely beating down that other's weapon until the moment came when, swift as the lightning flash, he would run him through. And Fleur de Mai knew that this was so, that it would happen: there needed no jeers from his opponent to tell him what the bite of the steel would feel like. Yet, breathing heavily, his face, nay, his whole body, reeking with the sweat that burst from all his pores, he still endeavoured to save himself, to avert the moment of his doom. As that moment drew near, however, his heart failed him and he shrieked to La Truaumont for assistance, knowing full well that from Boisfleury there was none to be hoped, since he lay stunned outside the next stall and was himself in danger of his life each moment from the hoofs of the excited animal within it.

But from La Truaumont the assistance came not. Rough soldier as the man was, conspirator as he had become, part-assassin of the King as he had proposed and still proposed to be, he could not bring himself to steal up behind the man fighting so gallantly against the great bravo and run him through the back or maim him. He could not force himself to become a common murderer.

"Not yet," La Truaumont whispered to himself. "Not yet. If he kills Fleur de Mai, as he will, then I must engage him, though not until he has had breathing time. But not this way. And--my God!--we have been friends, comrades. Oh! that he had not learnt this secret."

Suddenly, however, he saw that the fight had taken a different turn.

Fleur de Mai, desperate, knowing himself lost, had resorted to one last trick: the last in truth that is left to the swordsman who knows his chance is gone. A trick that may succeed yet is doubly like to fail. One that may save an almost beaten man if it succeeds, but that, in failing, places him in no worse, no more perilous, position than he was before.

Therefore he tried it, doubting yet hoping.

Swiftly, with one last attempt--it was successful!--of escaping his enemy's blade, Fleur de Mai essayed the once well-known botte de lache. He fell to the earth on his left hand, catching himself adroitly on that hand and, ere Humphrey could draw back his weapon to run him through and through, the other had thrust upwards at his conqueror's breast. He had thrust up with all his force and, even as he did so, knew that he had won. With a gasp the young man reeled backwards, staggered against the stable wall and, a moment later, fell to the floor insensible.

"So, so," muttered La Truaumont, "there was no need for me. I am quit of that." After which he stooped over Humphrey's now inert body, tore open his jacket at the breast and, thrusting his hand in over the heart, let it rest there a moment or so. "It beats still," he said. "It is not pierced. Yet, see," and he drew forth the hand and held it up before the other, who, by the miserable light of the horn lantern, saw that it gleamed crimson. "You have given him his death. There is a wound somewhere here big enough to let his life out, to set his soul free. What to do now?"

"Do now!" Fleur de Mai grunted, as he leant, blowing and puffing, against the side of the stall while supporting himself on the handle of his sword, from the point of which the red drops ran down and tinged the straw at his feet. "Do now! Why! Clear ourselves from this, my most noble captain who would not come to a comrade's help in a dire hour."

"I was not wanted. Two men were not needed to kill one. Your own skill has proved that"--"foul blow though it was," he added inwardly. Then he continued, "Best we desert the folle furieuse at once and ride to Paris. De Beaurepaire will absolve us when he knows what we have done to save him, even though we break faith with her. Add to which, we are wanted there and in Normandy. She can do without us, or, at least, she must."

"No, not ride," Fleur de Mai said, while as he spoke he assumed a greater tone of equality with La Truaumont than he had done before, if not a tone of command. For he it was who had vanquished the man who would have undone them, and he was not disposed to regard the accomplishment lightly. "No riding on these horses," glancing his eyes down the line of stalls. "Yet, still, away. To make for, not ride to Paris."

"I understand you not."

"Listen. I will propound to you. Let heaven give you the brains to comprehend."

"Beware. No insolence. I bear a sword more cunning than his," looking down at Humphrey.

"A fico for your sword! Again I say, listen. Let us back to the inn and be seen about it. Possibly 'tis not yet closed--you shall pay for a bottle. Then I will depart. Later you, too, can do so. On foot, together or alone, we can escape across the frontier; thus we are safe. In France none can touch us for what we have done amongst these Switzers, or, if they attempt it, let them beware. As for money, you have some I know full well. While he, too, perhaps, has some about him," touching Humphrey's body with the tip of his murderous sword as he spoke.

"What! You would rob your victim!"

"The spoils of war! Feel for his purse."

"Feel for it yourself. I need not money."

"I do." Whereon the ruffian calmly knelt down by Humphrey's side, ransacked his clothes and, at last, drew out a fairly well-filled purse which he clinked joyously in front of the lantern. "With this," he said, "we can--I mean, I can--buy me a horse across the frontier or get a seat in some coach, or patache or waggon for France. You need not money, you say. Therefore you, too, can do the same."

"Why not take our own horses?&qu............