agonist's body, that told Roberval how entirely he
was in the good-natured giant's power. The moonlight, that made the old
man's face cold and stony, seemed to illuminate with warmth the handsome
features of the younger.

Roberval noted the smile as the moonlight shone full upon La Pommeraye,
and his fury increased. Fiercely he flew at him, and thrust with the
dexterity which had made him the most distinguished swordsman among the
nobles of France. La Pommeraye had to move with lightning swiftness to
avoid a wound; and once, indeed, he felt a stinging sensation near his
heart, and knew by the warmth at his side that blood was flowing.

It would not do to trifle longer. As if a whirlwind had entered his arm,
his weapon flashed hither and thither with such rapidity that Roberval
forgot his hate, and thought only of keeping off the attack. But it was
useless. Once, twice, thrice, he was touched, touched so lightly that no
blood was drawn, and just as he was about to lower his sword to his
generous opponent, who was evidently playing with him, he caught a look
in La Pommeraye's eye that told him he was once more about to attempt
disarming him.

Such a disgrace and humiliation must be averted. He braced himself for
the struggle. He determined if possible to bind his antagonist's blade.
But to no avail. The trick was an old one, and ordinarily an easy one to
outwit; but the arm that now practised it was a giant's. De Roberval
vainly tried to hold his sword. His wrist seemed suddenly to burn and
crack, and a circle of light flashed before his eyes. It was his sword,
torn from his grasp, and hurled over the wall into the water. A
quivering silver arc marked the spot where it had gone down. La
Pommeraye stood with the same imperturbable air as before. He was
smiling as only a victor can, but there was neither scorn nor pity in
the smile.

"It shall never be told me that I was beaten," said Roberval
impetuously, as he snatched a jewel-hilted dagger from his girdle.

"Hold your hand," said La Pommeraye, sternly, as he saw the frenzied man
direct the weapon towards his own breast. "Put up that toy, and be a
man. You have been fairly beaten, as has every one who has crossed
swords with me. It is no disgrace; but no one shall know what has passed
here to-night unless from your own lips."

But his words came too late. The dagger, flashing downwards, struck the
breast of the infatuated man, who fell apparently lifeless.

A wild