or (suppose it to result seriously) betray
the name of the survivor. And with that, all being then ready, we
composed ourselves to await the moment.

The evening fell cloudy; not a star was to be seen when the first round
of the night passed through our shed and wound off along the ramparts;
and as we took our places, we could still hear, over the murmurs of the
surrounding city, the sentries challenging its further passage. Laclas,
the sergeant-major, set us in our stations, engaged our wands, and left
us. To avoid blood-stained clothing, my adversary and I had stripped to
the shoes; and the chill of the night enveloped our bodies like a wet
sheet. The man was better at fencing than myself; he was vastly taller
than I, being of a stature almost gigantic, and proportionately strong.
In the inky blackness of the shed it was impossible to see his eyes; and
from the suppleness of the wands, I did not like to trust to a parade. I
made up my mind accordingly to profit, if I might, by my defect; and as
soon as the signal should be given, to throw myself down and lunge at
the same moment. It was to play my life upon one card: should I not
mortally wound him, no defence would be left me; what was yet more
appalling, I thus ran the risk of bringing my own face against his
scissor with the double force of our assaults, and my face and eyes are
not that part of me that I would the most readily expose.

"_Allez!_" said the sergeant-major.

Both lunged in the same moment with an equal fury, and but for my
manoeuvre both had certainly been spitted. As it was, he did no more
than strike my shoulder, while my scissor plunged below the girdle into
a mortal part; and that great bulk of a man, falling from his whole
height, knocked me immediately senseless.

When I came to myself I was laid in my own sleeping-place, and could
make out in the darkness the outline of perhaps a dozen heads crowded
around me. I sat up. "What is it?" I exclaimed.

"Hush!" said the sergeant-major. "Blessed be God, all is well." I felt
him clasp my hand, and there were tears in his voice. "'Tis but a
scratch, my child; here is papa, who is taking good care of you. Your
shoulder is bound up; we have dressed you in your clothes again, and it
will all be well."

At this I began to remember. "And Goguelat?" I gasped.

"He cannot bear to be moved; he has his bellyful; 'tis a bad business,"
said the sergeant-major.

The idea of having killed a man with such a