ther your blood or mine be shed, it is upon your own head," and he
drew his sword too.

"Not so," St. Georges replied. "Deny that you led the attack on me, on
my child and my comrade at Aignay-le-Duc; deny that it was your
servant--that it was your livery he wore--accompanied by some woman,
if not this one, who slew the Bishop of Lodeve's servant"--once more
the other started, as he had started when accused of having removed
his beard--"deny this, I say, and I break my sword across my knee--I
leave myself unarmed and defenceless, at your mercy to slay me here
for the words I have spoken."

Again from the now absolutely livid lips there came the same words, or
almost the same, he had previously uttered.

"I deny nothing--I assert nothing," and he advanced past the table to
where St. Georges stood, weapon in hand.

"So be it! Yet, for the last time, ere it is too late, answer me one
question and I will not force you to this encounter to-night. Tell me
where my child is, let me regain possession of her, and a month hence,
on my honour as a soldier, I meet you again, and, _if you desire it_,
give you satisfaction."

"I do not know where your child is," De Roquemaure muttered hoarsely.
"And for your honour as a soldier--you are a broken one. A man
dismissed the army has no honour left."

"Enough!" said St. Georges; "you knew that--knew, not that I am
broken, but that I was to be broken! Now I understand who two of my
enemies are for sure. Thus I dispose of one. _En garde!_"

"Kill him!" he heard the woman hiss again as they commenced. "Kill him
dead, Raoul!"

A moment later they were engaged, each seeking the other's life. And
each knew that nothing but his death would satisfy his adversary.

Their weapons scarcely made any noise, so quietly the one stole upon
the other, as point pressed point, and through the swords the power of
their wrists made itself felt. Once De Roquemaure lunged savagely, but
the thrust was parried and returned--dangerously so. The point of St.
Georges's weapon slit his sleeve as, like an adder's tongue, it darted
forth. Then the other drew back and fought more carefully, though the
beads of sweat stood on his white forehead now. And St. Georges,
observing them, knew that he held him safe. His nerve was gone
already--the nearness of that thrust had shattered it!

The woman, looking on--her face also as white as a corpse's--was,
perhaps, the strangest figure of the three. Her eyes shone lik