Jocelyn took off and threw his casque at a distance, unbuckled his steel corselet, threw away his armlets, pulled off his leather jerkin, preserving only that part of his armor that covered his thighs and lower extremities, removed his shirt, leaving his breast bare, and said to the Sire of Nointel: "Here is flesh to bore holes through, if you can.... I am wounded in the thigh ... that evens up your chances; moreover, I swear I shall strike only at your breast; yes, I swear it, as truly as, freeman or serfs, my ancestors have during the centuries that rolled over us crossed swords with yours!"
"Oh, you dog whom my ancestors conquered.... I shall kill you!" cried Conrad of Nointel nearly delirious. Retaining his posture on his knees before Mazurec, he muttered, gasping for breath: "I repent, seigneur Jacques Bonhomme ... of having used unseemly words ... against you ... when you sought ... to outrage ... my bride in her nuptial bed...."
"The belle Gloriande of Chivry, and pronounce the name distinctly," said Adam the Devil. "Now, hurry up!"
"The ... belle ... Gloriande ... of ... Chivry ..." repeated Conrad, as if tearing the words from his breast.
"High, puissant and redoubtable seigneur of Nointel, Jacques Bonhomme pardons you for the outrage he perpetrated upon you!" now put in Mazurec in the midst of a fresh explosion of triumphant laughter and contemptuous jeers uttered by the Jacques.
"The sword! The sword!" cried Conrad rising livid and fearful with rage, but with his hands still pinioned behind him, and addressing Jocelyn. "You promised me blood ... yours ... or mine.... I wish to die seeing blood.... To the sword, to the sword!"
"Remove his bonds," said the champion with his feet still on the sword that lay on the ground and drawing his own.
While the Jacques were unfastening the bonds that held the arms of the seigneur of Nointel, the knight of Chaumontel took a step towards his friend and said to him: "Farewell, Conrad ... you are blinded with rage ... you are weakened by the trials of last night ... you will be killed by that Hercules ... a champion by profession.... But we shall be revenged."
"I killed!" cried the Sire of Nointel with a ghostly smile. "No, no; it is I who will kill the dog.... I will cut the vagabond's throat!"
"Recommend your soul to St. James," said Gerard in a penetrating voice to Conrad; "an invocation to him is sovereign in cases of duels."