woman's hand in which she held the knife,
seizing it by the wrist, and while she was writhing in desperate
struggle against the iron grip, with his other hand thrust the end of
his pistol in her mouth.

This awful scene had till now made upon Lorand the impression of the
quarrel of a tipsy husband with his obstinate wife, who answers all his
provocations with jesting: the lady seemed incapable of being
frightened, the thief of frightening. Some unnatural indifference seemed
to give the lie to that scene, which youthful imagination would picture
so differently. The meeting of a thief with an unprotected lady, at
night, in an inn on the plain! It was impossible that they should speak
so to one another.

But as the robber seized the lady's hand, and leaning across the table,
drew her by sheer force towards him, continually threatening the
screaming woman with a pistol, the young man's blood suddenly boiled up
within him. He leaped forward from the darkness, unnoticed by the thief,
crept toward him and seized the rascal's right hand, in which he held
the pistol, while with his other hand he tore the second pistol from the
man's belt.

The highwayman, like some infuriated beast, turned upon his assailant,
and strove to free his arm from the other's grip.

He felt he had to do with one whose wrist was as firm as his own.

"Student!" he snarled, with lips tightly drawn like a wolf, and gnashing
his gleaming white teeth.

"Don't stir," said Lorand, pointing the pistol at his forehead.

The thief saw plainly that the pistol was not cocked: nor could Lorand
have cocked it in this short time. Lorand, as a matter of fact, in his
excitement had not thought of it.

So the highwayman suddenly ducked his head and like a wall-breaking,
battering ram, dealt such a blow with his head to Lorand, that the
latter fell back on to the bench, and while he was forced to let go of
the rascal with his left, he was obliged with his armed right hand to
defend himself against the coming attack.

Then the robber pointed the barrel of the second pistol at his forehead.

"Now it is my turn to say, 'don't stir,' student."

In that short moment, as Lorand gazed into the barrel of the pistol that
was levelled at his forehead, there flashed through his mind this
thought:

"Now is the moment for checkmating the curse of fate and avoiding the
threatened suicide. He who loses his life in the defence of persecuted
and defenceless travellers dies