rd to reach the breast of his opponent,
but his every thrust was met by a determined guard; and when La
Pommeraye thought the breathing-time before breakfast had been of
sufficient length, he made a few quick passes that the young man's eye
could not follow, struck up his antagonist's sword, made a lightning
thrust at a broad silver ornament that adorned the gay rider's breast,
pushed him from his horse, and laughed a merry laugh as the lad sat up
in the dusty road, wondering at his escape. His companion, who had stood
by enjoying the contest, heartily joined in the laugh.

"Nobly done!" he exclaimed in admiration, "you handle your sword as if
you had been wont to play before King Francis. Henri, thou art not an
apt pupil; thou should'st have used thy horse more, and trusted less to
thy arms. If Monsieur is not tired with the contest, would he be pleased
to measure swords with me? He will find me no mere lad."

"With all the pleasure in life," said Charles, smiling, "But I fear me
the bacon at yonder inn will be burnt to a crisp unless I hurry on my
way; so draw at once; I have not time to bandy words."

"Have a care, Jules," cried Henri; "he is the Devil."

La Pommeraye caught the name.

"Have I the honour to cross swords with Jules Marchand?" said he. "Your
fame is not unknown to me; and were it not for the fact that I am in
haste to be at my journey's end, I would fain prolong the fight; as it
is, it must be short and sharp."

Like a flash his weapon shot out; like a flash the other met it. But
though the swordsman was La Pommeraye's equal in skill, he lacked brawn;
and, they had scarce played for a minute's space when Jules Marchand's
sword was wrenched from his hand, and he was left sitting, black with
wrath, upon his charger, which whinnied as if in recognition of his
master's mishap.

"Pardon, gentlemen," said Charles, smiling, "I must not dally longer by
the way. Were you not going in the opposite direction, I would invite
you to breakfast with me. But beware, hereafter, how you attack lone
travellers; were it not that France, now that Spain is once more in arms
against her, needs every man who is able to bear a sword, I should have
left one of you, at least, by the roadside."

So saying, he waved the two gallants a laughing adieu, and rode away.

"The Devil, or La Pommeraye," said Jules.

"Neither! Too merry for the Devil," answered Henri, "and La Pommeraye,
we heard, was killed in Paris."

"Nay,"