as upset--blows were exchanged--Mueller, pinned
against the wall with his adversary's hands upon his throat, was
striking out with the desperation of a man whose strength is
overmatched--and the whole room was in a tumult.

In vain I attempted to fling myself between them. In vain the waiters
rushed to and fro, imploring "ces Messieurs" to interpose. In vain a
stout man pushed his way through the bystanders, exclaiming angrily:--

"Desist, Messieurs! Desist, in the name of the law! I am the proprietor
of this establishment--I forbid this brawling--I will have you both
arrested! Messieurs, do you hear?"

Suddenly the flush of rage faded out of Mueller's face. He gasped--became
livid. Lepany, Droz, myself, and one or two others, flew at the stranger
and dragged him forcibly back.

"Assassin!" I cried, "would you murder him?"

He flung us off, as a baited bull flings off a pack of curs. For myself,
though I received only a backhanded blow on the chest, I staggered as if
I had been struck with a sledgehammer.

Mueller, half-fainting, dropped into a chair.

There was a tramp and clatter at the door--a swaying and parting of the
crowd.

"Here are the sergents de ville!" cried a trembling waiter.

"He attacked me first," gasped Mueller. "He has half strangled me."

"_Qu'est ce que ca me fait_!" shouted the enraged proprietor. "You are a
couple of _canaille_! You have made a scandal in my Cafe. Sergents,
arrest both these gentlemen!"

The police--there were two of them, with their big cocked hats on their
heads and their long sabres by their sides--pushed through the circle of
spectators. The first laid his hand on Mueller's shoulder; the second was
about to lay his hand on mine, but I drew back.

"Which is the other?" said he, looking round.

"_Sacredie_!" stammered the proprietor, "he was here--there--not a
moment ago!"

"_Diable_!" said the sergent de ville, stroking his moustache, and
staring fiercely about him. "Did no one see him go?"

There was a chorus of exclamations--a rush to the inner salon--to the
door--to the street. But the stranger was nowhere in sight; and, which
was still more incomprehensible, no one had seen him go!

"_Mais, mon Dieu_!" exclaimed the proprietor, mopping his head and face
violently with his pocket-handkerchief, "was the man a ghost, that he
should vanish into the air?"

"_Parbleu_! a ghost with muscles of iron," said Mueller. "Talk of the
strength of a madman--he has the