wn vigor was slowly failing him; instead of
pressing the other he was now obliged to defend himself. He strove to
throw off the lethargy irresistibly stealing over him; to shake the
leaden movements from his limbs. He vainly endeavored to penetrate the
mist falling before his eyes and to overcome the dizziness that made
his foeman seem like a figure in a dream. Was it through loss of
blood, or weariness, or both?--but he was cognizant his thrusts had
lost force, his plunges vitality, and that even an element of chance
prevailed in his parries. But he uttered no sound. When would that
mist become dark, and the golden day fuse into inky night?

Before the mist totally eclipsed his sight he determined to make one
more supreme effort, and again sprang forward, but was driven back
with ease. The knowledge that he was continuing a futile struggle
smote him to the soul. Gladly would he have welcomed the fatal thrust,
if first he could have sent his blade through that breast which so far
had been impervious to his efforts. Now the scene went round and
round; the golden day became crimson, scarlet; then gray, leaden,
somber. Incautiously he bent his arm to counter an imaginary lunge,
and his antagonist thrust out his rapier like a thing of life,
transfixing Mauville's sword arm. He stood his ground bravely for a
moment, playing feebly into space, expecting the fatal stroke! When
would it come? Then the slate-colored hues were swallowed in a black
cloud. But while his mind passed into unconsciousness, his breast was
openly presented to his antagonist, and even the count shuddered.

With his blade at guard, Saint-Prosper remained motionless; the land
baron staggered feebly and then sank softly to the earth. That fatal
look, the expression of a duelist, vanished from the soldier's face,
and, allowing the point of his weapon to drop to the ground, he
surveyed his prostrate antagonist.

"Done like a gentleman!" cried the count, breathing more freely. "You
had him at your mercy, sir"--to Saint-Prosper--"and spared him."

A cold glance was the soldier's only response, as without a word he
turned brusquely away. Meanwhile the doctor, hastening to Mauville's
side, opened his shirt.

"He is badly hurt?" asked Barnes, anxiously, of the surgeon.

"No; only fainted from loss of blood," replied that gentleman,
cheerfully. "He will be around again in a day or two."

The count put away his blades as carefully as a mother would deposit
h