e, in that he had reached
the threshold. Backing, he defended himself and gained the anteroom.
Garnache followed, but the clumsy chair was defensive rather than
offensive, and Marius's sword meanwhile darted above it and below it,
forcing him to keep a certain distance.

And now Marius raised his voice and shouted with all the power of his
lungs:

"To me! To me! Fortunio! Abdon! To me, you dogs! I am beset."

From the courtyard below rose an echo of his words, repeated in a shout
by the sentinel, who had overheard them, and they caught the swift fall
of the fellow's feet as he ran for help. Furious, picturing to himself
how the alarm would spread like a conflagration through the chateau,
cursing his headstrong folly yet determined that Marius at least should
not escape him, Garnache put forth his energies to hinder him from
gaining the door that opened on to the stairs. From the doorway of the
antechamber mademoiselle, with a white face and terrified eyes, watched
the unequal combat and heard the shouts for help. Anon despair might
whelm her at the thought of how they had lost their opportunity of
escaping; but for the present she had no thought save for the life of
that brave man who was defending himself with an unwieldy chair.

Garnache leapt suddenly aside to take his opponent in the flank and
thus turn him from his backward progress towards the outer door. The
manoeuvre succeeded, and gradually, always defending himself, Garnache
circled farther round him until he was between Marius and the threshold.

And now there came a sound of running feet on the uneven stones of the
courtyard. Light gleamed on the staircase, and breathless voices were
wafted up to the two men. Garnache bethought him that his last hour was
assuredly at hand. Well, if he must take his death, he might as well
take it here upon Marius's sword as upon another's. So he would risk
it for the sake of leaving upon Marius some token by which he might
remember him. He swung his chair aloft, uncovering himself for a second.
The young man's sword darted in like a shaft of light. Nimbly Garnache
stepped aside to avoid it, and moved nearer his opponent. Down crashed
the chair, and down went Marius, stunned and bleeding, under its
terrific blow. The sword clattered from his hand and rolled, with a
pendulum-like movement, to the feet of Garnache.

The Parisian flung aside his chair and stooped to seize that very
welcome blade. He rose, grasping the hilt