scream rang out from behind the wall. It was Bastienne, no
longer to be restrained. But neither Marguerite nor Marie heeded her
now, for both had rushed to the side of the prostrate swordsman.

He had fallen forward on his face, and Marguerite flung herself upon his
body. La Pommeraye had seen men die before; he had killed a few in his
day, both on the field of battle and in single combat; but never before
had he had the same stirring of conscience that he now experienced at
the spectacle of this beautiful girl overcome by the sorrow he had
brought upon her. But his weakness was only for a moment.

"Mademoiselle," he said, approaching, "perhaps we may still be able to
do something for your uncle. His wound may not be fatal."

He bent over to assist her to rise, but she was on her feet unaided, and
drew back from him with the one scornful word she had flung at him the
night before, "Coward!"

La Pommeraye stooped over the lifeless figure at his feet. As he turned
it reverently over he noticed that there was no mark of a death-struggle
on the limbs or face. Death seemed to have taken sudden hold. But no! he
felt the heart, it still beat! The dagger had never pierced the breast!
His eye suddenly caught the jewel-hilted weapon lying on the ground.

"Mademoiselle," he exclaimed, seizing it joyfully, "your uncle has only
fainted. Here is his dagger untarnished with his blood."

He held it out to where she had been standing a moment before, but she
had disappeared, and in her place stood De Pontbriand.

"I am glad to hear you say that," remarked the latter. "It would have
been a severe blow to his niece had he fallen by your sword."

A groan told that De Roberval was recovering. If La Pommeraye was a good
swordsman, he was an equally cheerful liar. He realised fully how deeply
Roberval was stung by the disgrace of his defeat.

"There was little danger of his falling before my sword," he said; "his
cloak, which had been cast on the ground, became entangled with his
feet, and he fell; and rather than give an opponent the satisfaction of
saying he had spared his life, he drew his dagger, as I should have done
under similar circumstances, and would have ended his own existence, but
the hand of Providence has in some strange manner intervened."

He was still kneeling beside the fallen man, and somewhat to his
surprise he felt his hand clutched and pressed, showing that his
explanation had been understood and accepted.