of the
rue Saint-Andre, and ran along it as far as the church, the site of
which is occupied by the square of the same name to-day. Here he thought
he would be safe, for, as the church was being restored and enlarged,
heaps of stone stood all round the old pile. He glided in among these,
and twice heard Vitry searching quite close to him, and each time stood
on guard expecting an onslaught. This marching and counter-marching
lasted for some minutes; the chevalier began to hope he had escaped the
danger, and eagerly waited for the moment when the moon which had broken
through the clouds should again withdraw behind them, in order to steal
into some of the adjacent streets under cover of the darkness. Suddenly
a shadow rose before him and a threatening voice cried--

"Have I caught you at last, you coward?"

The danger in which the chevalier stood awoke in him a flickering
energy, a feverish courage, and he crossed blades with his assailant.
A strange combat ensued, of which the result was quite uncertain,
depending entirely on chance; for no science was of any avail on a
ground so rough that the combatants stumbled at every step, or struck
against immovable masses, which were one moment clearly lit up, and
the next in shadow. Steel clashed on steel, the feet of the adversaries
touched each other, several times the cloak of one was pierced by the
sword of the other, more than once the words "Die then!" rang out. But
each time the seemingly vanquished combatant sprang up unwounded, as
agile and as lithe and as quick as ever, while he in his turn pressed
the enemy home. There was neither truce nor pause, no clever feints
nor fencer's tricks could be employed on either side; it was a mortal
combat, but chance, not skill, would deal the death-blow. Sometimes a
rapid pass encountered only empty air; sometimes blade crossed blade
above the wielders' heads; sometimes the fencers lunged at each other's
breast, and yet the blows glanced aside at the last moment and the
blades met in air once more. At last, however, one of the two, making
a pass to the right which left his breast unguarded, received a deep
wound. Uttering a loud cry, he recoiled a step or two, but, exhausted by
the effort, tripped and fell backward over a large stone, and lay there
motionless, his arms extended in the form of a cross.

The other turned and fled.

"Hark, de Jars!" said Jeannin, stopping, "There's fighting going on
hereabouts; I hear the clash of