ntertained, and one which
I acknowledge that, at this moment, I still retain, and for which I
would very willingly die. You are a bad and heartless man, M. de Wardes,
and I will do my very utmost to take your life; for I feel assured that,
if you survive this engagement, you will, in the future, work great
mischief towards my friends. That is all I have to remark, M. de
Wardes," concluded Buckingham as he saluted him.

"And I, my lord, have only this to reply to you: I have not disliked you
hitherto, but, since you give me such a character, I hate you, and will
do all I possibly can to kill you;" and De Wardes saluted Buckingham.

Their swords crossed at the same moment, like two flashes of lightning
on a dark night. The swords seemed to seek each other, guessed their
position, and met. Both were practiced swordsmen, and the earlier passes
were without any result. The night was fast closing in, and it was so
dark that they attacked and defended themselves almost instinctively.
Suddenly De Wardes felt his word arrested,--he had just touched
Buckingham's shoulder. The duke's sword sunk, as his arm was lowered.

"You are wounded, my lord," said De Wardes, drawing back a step or two.

"Yes, monsieur, but only slightly."

"Yet you quitted your guard."

"Only from the first effect of the cold steel, but I have recovered.
Let us go on, if you please." And disengaging his sword with a sinister
clashing of the blade, the duke wounded the marquis in the breast.

"A hit?" he said.

"No," cried De Wardes, not moving from his place.

"I beg your pardon, but observing that your shirt was stained--" said
Buckingham.

"Well," said De Wardes furiously, "it is now your turn."

And with a terrible lunge, he pierced Buckingham's arm, the sword
passing between the two bones. Buckingham feeling his right arm
paralyzed, stretched out his left, seized his sword, which was about
falling from his nerveless grasp, and before De Wardes could resume his
guard, he thrust him through the breast. De Wardes tottered, his knees
gave way beneath him, and leaving his sword still fixed in the duke's
arm, he fell into the water, which was soon crimsoned with a more
genuine reflection than that which it had borrowed from the clouds. De
Wardes was not dead; he felt the terrible danger that menaced him, for
the sea rose fast. The duke, too, perceived the danger. With an effort
and an exclamation of pain he tore out the blade which remained in his