e did not have time to finish his comparison; a blow from the
whip cut him in the face and made him reel in spite of himself.

"By heaven!" he exclaimed, in a voice like thunder, "may I lose my name
if I do not polish you off well!"

He threw his coat on the grass, spat, in his hands and rubbed them
together, assuming the position of an athlete ready for a boxing-bout.

Mademoiselle Gobillot, arose, trembling with fright at this
demonstration, and uttered two or three inarticulate cries; but, instead
of throwing herself between the combatants in the approved style, she
ran away as fast as she could.

Although the weapons of the adversaries were not of a nature to
spill blood upon the turf, there was something warlike about their
countenances which would have done honor to ancient paladins. Lambernier
squatting upon his legs, according to the rules of pugilism, and with
his fists on a level with his shoulders, resembled, somewhat, a cat
ready to bound upon its prey. The artist stood with his body thrown
backward, his legs on a tension, his chin buried up to his moustache
in the fur collar of his coat, with whip lowered, watching all his
adversary's movements with a steady eye. When he saw the carpenter
advancing toward him, he raised his arm and gave him on the left side a
second lash from his whip, so vigorously applied that the workman beat a
retreat once more, rubbing his hands and roaring:

"Thunder! I'll finish you--"

He put his hands in his trousers' pockets and drew out one of those
large iron compasses such as carpenters use, and opened it with a rapid
movement. He then seized it in the centre and was thus armed with a
sort of double-pointed stiletto, which he brandished with a threatening
gesture.

Marillac, at this sight, drew back a few paces, passed his whip to his
left hand and, arming himself with his Corsican poniard, placed himself
in a position of defence.

"My friend," said he, with perfect deliberation, "my needle is shorter
than yours, but it pricks better. If you take one step nearer me, if you
raise your hand, I will bleed you like a wild boar."

Seeing the firm attitude of the artist, whose solid figure seemed to
denote rather uncommon vigor, and whose moustache and sparkling eyes
gave him a rather formidable aspect at this moment; above all, when he
saw the large, sharp blade of the poniard, Lambernier stopped.

"By the gods!" exclaimed Marillac, who saw that his bold looks had
produc