At length, however, the path was traversed by the little river Bar, broad and spreading, but scarcely deeper than a horse's knee. The bridge was built of wood, old and insecure; and he that I pursued took the river in preference. In the midst his horse's foot slipped, and fell on his knees. His rider brought him up; but the beast was hurt, his speed was over, and before he had gained twenty lengths on the other side, I was up with him, and my hand upon his bridle-rein.
"Turn, villain! Turn, murderer!" cried I, "and prepare to settle our long account together. This day, this hour, this moment, is either your last or mine."
"By my faith, Monsieur de l'Orme," replied the Marquis de St. Brie--for to him it was spoken--"you hold very strange language; but you had better quit my rein; my attendants are within call, and you may repent this conduct. Are you mad?"
From whatever accident it happened, his attendants were evidently not within call, or he would not have fled so rapidly from a single man. While he spoke also, I saw him slip his hand softly towards his holsters, and in another moment most probably I should have shared the fate of the Count de Soissons, but before he could reach his pistol, I struck him a violent blow with my clenched gauntlet that dashed him from his horse. I sprang to the ground, and he started up at the same moment, laying his hand upon his sword.
"Draw! draw, villain!" cried I. "It is what I seek! draw!"
"Doubtless," replied he, with a sneer, that he could not restrain even then, while at the same time fury and hesitation were strangely mingled in his countenance--"doubtless, when you are covered with a corslet and morion, and I am without any defensive arms."
"That difference shall soon be done away," cried I, casting away my casque, and unbuckling my corslet, while I stood between him and his horse, and kept a wary eye upon him lest he should take me at a disadvantage; but he had other feelings on the subject, it seems, for before I was prepared, he said, in a faltering tone, "You have told me yourself, that whoever seeks your life shall die by your hand. The combat with you is not equal."
"Fool!" cried I, "fool! You, a murderer, and an infidel!--are you superstitious? But draw, and directly, for I would not kill you like a dog. Think of the noble Prince you have just slain--think of the unhappy Bagnols, the proofs of whose innocence and your treason are now upon my person."
"Ha!" cried he, suddenly drawing his sword, "have at you then. You know too much! At all events, 'tis time that one should die."
So saying, he waited not for me to begin the attack, but himself lunged straight at my breast. The struggle was long and obstinate. He was an excellent swordsman, and was besides better armed for such an encounter than I was, his sword being a long Toledo rapier, while mine was a heavy-edged broadsword, which would thrust, it is true, but was ponderous and unwieldy. I was heated too, and rash, from almost every motive that could irritate the human heart. He had sought my own life--he had taken that of one I loved and esteemed--he had snatched from me all the advantages of success and victory, at the very moment they seemed given into my hand. Thus, anger made me lose my advantage; and it was not till a sharp wound in the shoulder taught me how near my adversary was my equal, that I began to fight with caution and coolness.