incarnation of that Empire which had crushed his native
country under its iron feet. But all mixed motives were fused together
and flamed up in the fighting rage that drew that slight hand to the
sword-hilt, and darted like lightning along the living blade.

Monsieur Joseph was a splendid swordsman. But Ratoneau, too, had perfect
command of his weapon; and besides this, he was a taller and heavier
man. And the fury of disappointment, of revenge, the dread of being
found out, of probable disgrace, if Joseph de la Mariniere could prove
his keen suspicions true; all this added to his caution, while he never
lacked the bull-dog courage of a fighting soldier. Though foaming with
rage, he was at that moment the cooler, the more self-possessed of the
two.

Simon tried at first to interfere. He stepped out from among the trees,
exclaiming, "Messieurs--messieurs!" but then withdrew again, for the
very sight of the two men's faces, the sound of their breath, the quick
clash of the swords, showed that this was a quarrel past mending. Simon
watched. He was conscious, in the depths of his mind, of a knowledge
that he would not mourn very deeply if General Ratoneau should be the
one to fall. He hastily made his own plans. In that case he would slip
away behind the trees, take the horse from the groom without a word, and
ride away to Paris, trusting that he might never be called to account
for any dark doings in Anjou. For there was not only the false arrest of
Angelot; there were also certain dealings with the Prefect's secretary;
there were tamperings with papers and seals, all to set forward that
marriage affair that had failed so dismally, he hardly understood how.
But he had hoped that the Prefect would die, and the news of his rapid
recovery seemed strangely inopportune. It appeared to Simon that General
Ratoneau's star was on the wane; and so, for those entangled in his
rascally deeds, a lucky thrust of Monsieur de la Mariniere's swiftly
flashing sword--Ah, no! the fortune of war was on the wrong side that
morning. A few passes; a fight three or four minutes long; a low cry,
then silence, and the slipping down of a light body on the grass.
General Ratoneau had run his adversary through the heart, had withdrawn
his sword and stood, white but unmoved, looking at him as he lay.

[Illustration: "MONSIEUR LE GENERAL, YOU HAVE KILLED HIM!"]

Monsieur Joseph turned himself once, and stretched his slight limbs, as
if composing himse