latter also disdained to make any of the
usual preparations. Since he recognized that it could avail him nothing
to strip, he came on guard fully dressed, two hectic spots above the
cheek-bones burning on his otherwise grey face.

M. de Chabrillane, leaning upon a cane--for he had relinquished his sword
to M. de Vilmorin--looked on with quiet interest. Facing him on the
other side of the combatants stood Andre-Louis, the palest of the four,
staring from fevered eyes, twisting and untwisting clammy hands.

His every instinct was to fling himself between the antagonists, to
protest against and frustrate this meeting. That sane impulse was
curbed, however, by the consciousness of its futility. To calm him, he
clung to the conviction that the issue could not really be very serious.
If the obligations of Philippe's honour compelled him to cross swords
with the man he had struck, M. de La Tour d'Azyr's birth compelled him
no less to do no serious hurt to the unfledged lad he had so grievously
provoked. M. le Marquis, after all, was a man of honour. He could intend
no more than to administer a lesson; sharp, perhaps, but one by which
his opponent must live to profit. Andre-Louis clung obstinately to that
for comfort.

Steel beat on steel, and the men engaged. The Marquis presented to his
opponent the narrow edge of his upright body, his knees slightly flexed
and converted into living springs, whilst M. de Vilmorin stood squarely,
a full target, his knees wooden. Honour and the spirit of fair play
alike cried out against such a match.

The encounter was very short, of course. In youth, Philippe had received
the tutoring in sword-play that was given to every boy born into his
station of life. And so he knew at least the rudiments of what was
now expected of him. But what could rudiments avail him here? Three
disengages completed the exchanges, and then without any haste the
Marquis slid his right foot along the moist turf, his long, graceful
body extending itself in a lunge that went under M. de Vilmorin's clumsy
guard, and with the utmost deliberation he drove his blade through the
young man's vitals.

Andre-Louis sprang forward just in time to catch his friend's body under
the armpits as it sank. Then, his own legs bending beneath the weight of
it, he went down with his burden until he was kneeling on the damp turf.
Philippe's limp head lay against Andre-Louis' left shoulder; Philippe's
relaxed arms trailed at his sides;