Thor entered, rode straight up to the funereal rider, and said to him:
"I do not know thee, but I will fight thee nevertheless!"
And they fought from midday till nightfall. It was the first time Thor had encountered a champion who could withstand him. Not only could this adversary withstand him, but, every moment, Thor felt himself losing ground, and although his body trembled from head to foot with the blows he dealt, his blood seemed to freeze within his veins, and not a step was gained; then, when his strength failed him, when he felt himself falling, he fell on one knee, then on both, then on one hand, ever trying to fight, and he ended by lying in the dust of the arena, breathless, conquered, dying—he—Thor, he, the son of Odin!
"Because of thy courage and because thou hast done what none other has done before thee, I will spare thee," said the black rider. "But the next time you meet me and we wrestle together, you will not escape me."
"Who then art thou, conquering stranger?" asked the son of Odin.
"I am Death," said the dark horseman, raising the vizor of his helmet.
And it took Thor nigh a year to recover his strength after having struggled thus with Death.
It was with you, sire, as with Jacob and Thor; you thought you had lost your senses, and it took you a year to return to your old strength.
But let us return to him at the Élysee.
He arrived there at seven o'clock in the morning; later he saw what he ought to have done.