he feared
the train more than the pointed steel. Syme, on the other hand, fought
fiercely but still carefully, in an intellectual fury, eager to solve
the riddle of his own bloodless sword. For this purpose, he aimed less
at the Marquis's body, and more at his throat and head. A minute and a
half afterwards he felt his point enter the man's neck below the jaw.
It came out clean. Half mad, he thrust again, and made what should have
been a bloody scar on the Marquis's cheek. But there was no scar.

For one moment the heaven of Syme again grew black with supernatural
terrors. Surely the man had a charmed life. But this new spiritual dread
was a more awful thing than had been the mere spiritual topsy-turvydom
symbolised by the paralytic who pursued him. The Professor was only a
goblin; this man was a devil--perhaps he was the Devil! Anyhow, this
was certain, that three times had a human sword been driven into him
and made no mark. When Syme had that thought he drew himself up, and all
that was good in him sang high up in the air as a high wind sings in the
trees. He thought of all the human things in his story--of the Chinese
lanterns in Saffron Park, of the girl's red hair in the garden, of the
honest, beer-swilling sailors down by the dock, of his loyal companions
standing by. Perhaps he had been chosen as a champion of all these fresh
and kindly things to cross swords with the enemy of all creation. "After
all," he said to himself, "I am more than a devil; I am a man. I can do
the one thing which Satan himself cannot do--I can die," and as the word
went through his head, he heard a faint and far-off hoot, which would
soon be the roar of the Paris train.

He fell to fighting again with a supernatural levity, like a Mohammedan
panting for Paradise. As the train came nearer and nearer he fancied he
could see people putting up the floral arches in Paris; he joined in
the growing noise and the glory of the great Republic whose gate he
was guarding against Hell. His thoughts rose higher and higher with
the rising roar of the train, which ended, as if proudly, in a long and
piercing whistle. The train stopped.

Suddenly, to the astonishment of everyone the Marquis sprang back quite
out of sword reach and threw down his sword. The leap was wonderful,
and not the less wonderful because Syme had plunged his sword a moment
before into the man's thigh.

"Stop!" said the Marquis in a voice that compelled a momentary
obedience. "