oment, if the duke should venture to offer violence to the defenceless
girl--and to his prudence and courage it was due that she escaped
further persecution, on that occasion, from her relentless and
unscrupulous tormentor.

That day was destined to be an eventful one. It will be remembered that
Lampourde, the professional assassin, had received from Merindol--acting
for the Duke Of Vallombreuse--a commission to put Captain Fracasse
quietly out of the way, and accordingly that worthy was dodging about on
the Pont-Neuf, at the hour of sunset, waiting to intercept his intended
victim, who would necessarily pass that way in returning to his hotel.
Jacquemin awaited his arrival impatiently, frequently breathing on his
fingers and rubbing them vigorously, so that they should not be quite
numb with the cold when the moment for action came, and stamping up and
down in order to warm his half-frozen feet. The weather was extremely
cold, and the sun had set behind the Pont Rouge, in a heavy mass of
blood-red clouds. Twilight was coming on apace, and already there were
only occasional foot-passengers, or vehicles, to be encountered hurrying
along the deserted streets.

At last de Sigognac appeared, walking very fast, for a vague anxiety
about Isabelle had taken possession of him, and he was in haste to get
back to her. In his hurry and preoccupation he did not notice Lampourde,
who suddenly approached and laid hold of his cloak, which he snatched
off, with a quick, strong jerk that broke its fastenings. Without
stopping to dispute the cloak with his assailant, whom he mistook at
first for an ordinary foot-pad, de Sigognac instantly drew his sword
and attacked him. Lampourde, on his side, was ready for him, and pleased
with the baron's way of handling his weapon, said to himself, though in
an audible tone, "Now for a little fun." Then began a contest that would
have delighted and astonished a connoisseur in fencing--such swift,
lightning-like flashing of the blades, as they gave and parried cut and
thrust--the clashing of the steel, the blue sparks that leaped from the
contending swords as the fight grew more furious--Lampourde keeping up
meanwhile an odd running commentary, as his wonder and admiration grew
momentarily greater and more enthusiastic, and he had soon reached an
exulting mood. Here at last was a "foeman worthy of his steel," and he
could not resist paying a tribute to the amazing skill that constantly
and easily baf