y moving
feet had hurtled.

And the Dowager, who watched the conflict and who knew something of
sword-play, realized that, tired though Garnache might be, unless
help came soon or some strange chance gave the captain the advantage,
Fortunio would be laid low with the others.

His circling had brought the Parisian round, so that his back was now to
the window, his face to the door of the bedchamber, where mademoiselle
still watched in ever-growing horror. His right shoulder was in line
with the door of the antechamber, which madame occupied, and he never
saw her quit Marius's side and creep slyly into the room to speed
swiftly round behind him.

The only one from whom he thought that he might have cause to fear
treachery was the man whom he had dropped with a thigh wound, and he was
careful to keep beyond the reach of any sudden sword-thrust from that
fellow.

But if he did not see the woman's movements, mademoiselle saw them,
and the sight set her eyes dilating with a new fear. She guessed the
Dowager's treacherous purpose. And no sooner had she guessed it than,
with a choking sob, she told herself that what madame could do that
could she also.

Suddenly Garnache saw an opening; Fortunio's eyes, caught by the
Dowager's movements, strayed for a moment past his opponent, and the
thing would have been fatal to the captain but that in that moment,
as Garnache was on the point of lunging, he felt himself caught from
behind, his arms pinioned to his sides by a pair of slender ones that
twined themselves about him, and over his shoulder, the breath of it
fanning his hot cheek, came a vicious voice--

"Stab now, Fortunio!"

The captain asked nothing better. He raised his weary sword-arm and
brought his point to the level of Garnache's breast, but in that instant
its weight became leaden. Imitating the Marquise, Valerie had been in
time. She seized Fortunio's half-lifted arm and flung all her weight
upon it.

The captain cursed her horridly in a frenzy of fear, for he saw that
did Garnache shake off the Marquise there would be an end of himself. He
sought to wrench himself free of her detaining grasp, and the exertion
brought him down, weary as he was, and with her weight hanging to him.
He sank to his knees, and the girl, still clinging valiantly, sank with
him, calling to Garnache that she held the captain fast.

Putting forth all his remaining strength, the Parisian twisted from the
Dowager's encircling grasp and