y name
if I do not polish you off well!"

He threw his coat on the grass, spat, in his hands and rubbed them
together, assuming the position of an athlete ready for a boxing-bout.

Mademoiselle Gobillot, arose, trembling with fright at this
demonstration, and uttered two or three inarticulate cries; but, instead
of throwing herself between the combatants in the approved style, she ran
away as fast as she could.

Although the weapons of the adversaries were not of a nature to spill
blood upon the turf, there was something warlike about their countenances
which would have done honor to ancient paladins. Lambernier squatting
upon his legs, according to the rules of pugilism, and with his fists on
a level with his shoulders, resembled, somewhat, a cat ready to bound
upon its prey. The artist stood with his body thrown backward, his legs
on a tension, his chin buried up to his moustache in the fur collar of
his coat, with whip lowered, watching all his adversary's movements with
a steady eye. When he saw the carpenter advancing toward him, he raised
his arm and gave him on the left side a second lash from his whip, so
vigorously applied that the workman beat a retreat once more, rubbing his
hands and roaring:

"Thunder! I'll finish you--"

He put his hands in his trousers' pockets and drew out one of those large
iron compasses such as carpenters use, and opened it with a rapid
movement. He then seized it in the centre and was thus armed with a sort
of double-pointed stiletto, which he brandished with a threatening
gesture.

Marillac, at this sight, drew back a few paces, passed his whip to his
left hand and, arming himself with his Corsican poniard, placed himself
in a position of defence.

"My friend," said he, with perfect deliberation, "my needle is shorter
than yours, but it pricks better. If you take one step nearer me, if you
raise your hand, I will bleed you like a wild boar."

Seeing the firm attitude of the artist, whose solid figure seemed to
denote rather uncommon vigor, and whose moustache and sparkling eyes gave
him a rather formidable aspect at this moment; above all, when he saw the
large, sharp blade of the poniard, Lambernier stopped.

"By the gods!" exclaimed Marillac, who saw that his bold looks had
produced their effect, "you are a Provencal, and I a Gascon. You have a
quick hand, comrade--"

"But, by Jove! you are the one who has the quick hand; you struck me with
your whip as if I had been