step by step until he was almost up with the wall.

"You damned fool!" the Colonel snarled, "you'll never get that chance
again."

For the next few minutes it took all the splendid defense Maurice
possessed to keep the spark in his body. The Colonel's sword was no
longer a sword, it was a flame; which circled, darted, hissed and
writhed. Twice Maurice felt the bite of it, once in the arm and again in
the thigh. These were not deep, but they told him that the end was but
a short way off. He had no match for this brilliant assault. Something
must be done, and that at once. He did not desire the Colonel's death,
and the possibility of accomplishing this was now extremely doubtful.
But he wanted to live. Life was just beginning--the rough road had
been left behind. He was choosing between his life and the Colonel's.
Beauvais, after the fashion of the old masters, was playing for the
throat. This upward thrusting, when continuous, is difficult to meet,
and Maurice saw that sooner or later the blade would reach home. If not
sudden death, it meant speechlessness, and death as a finality. Then the
voice of his guardian angel spoke.

"I do not wish your life," he said, breaking the silence, "but at the
same time I wish to live--ah!" Maurice leaped back just in time. As it
was, the point of his enemy's blade scratched his chin.

They broke and circled. The Colonel feinted. Maurice, with his elbow
against his side and his forearm extended, waited. Again the Colonel
lunged for the throat. This time, instead of meeting it in tierce,
Maurice threw his whole force forward in such a manner as to bring
the steel guard of his rapier full on the Colonel's point. There was a
ringing sound of snapping steel, and the Colonel stood with nothing but
a stump in his grasp.

"There you are," said Maurice, a heat-flash passing over him. Had he
swerved a hair's breadth from the line, time would have tacked finis to
the tale. "Now, I am perfectly willing to talk," putting his point to
the Colonel's breast. "It would inconvenience me to kill you, but do not
count too much on that."

"Damn you!" cried the Colonel, giving way, his face yellow with rage,
chagrin and fear. "Kill me, for I swear to God that one or the other of
us must die! Damn you and your meddling nose!"

"Damn away, chevalier d'industrie; damn away. But live, live, live! That
will be the keenest punishment. Live! O, my brave killer of boys,
you thought to play with me as a cat