st, if we do not
interfere. There has been enough of this. Hola, gentlemen!--hola!" cried
Marguerite.

"Let them be! let them be!" said Henriette, who having seen Coconnas at
work, hoped in her heart that he would have as easy a victory over La
Mole as he had over Mercandon's son and two nephews.

"Oh, they are really beautiful so!" exclaimed Marguerite. "Look--they
seem to breathe fire!"

Indeed, the combat, begun with sarcasms and mutual insults, became
silent as soon as the champions had crossed their swords. Each
distrusted his own strength, and each, at every quick pass, was
compelled to restrain an expression of pain occasioned by his own
wounds. Nevertheless, with eyes fixed and burning, mouth half open, and
teeth clenched, La Mole advanced with short and firm steps toward his
adversary, who, seeing in him a most skilful swordsman, retreated step
by step. They both thus reached the edge of the ditch on the other side
of which were the spectators; then, as if his retreat had been only a
simple stratagem to draw nearer to his lady, Coconnas took his stand,
and as La Mole made his guard a little too wide, he made a thrust with
the quickness of lightning and instantly La Mole's white satin doublet
was stained with a spot of blood which kept growing larger.

"Courage!" cried the Duchesse de Nevers.

"Ah, poor La Mole!" exclaimed Marguerite, with a cry of distress.

La Mole heard this cry, darted at the queen one of those looks which
penetrate the heart even deeper than a sword-point, and taking advantage
of a false parade, thrust vigorously at his adversary.

This time the two women uttered two cries which seemed like one. The
point of La Mole's rapier had appeared, all covered with blood, behind
Coconnas's back.

Yet neither fell. Both remained erect, looking at each other with open
mouth, and feeling that on the slightest movement they must lose their
balance. At last the Piedmontese, more dangerously wounded than his
adversary, and feeling his senses forsaking him with his blood, fell on
La Mole, grasping him with one hand, while with the other he endeavored
to unsheath his poniard.

La Mole roused all his strength, raised his hand, and let fall the
pommel of his sword on Coconnas's forehead. Coconnas, stupefied by the
blow, fell, but in his fall drew down his adversary with him, and both
rolled into the ditch.

Then Marguerite and the Duchesse de Nevers, seeing that, dying as they
were, they were stil