"Satan of hell, back, three of you! We can gain nothing this way. Let me have him alone for a while."
The vicomte's allies drew away, not unreluctantly; and the two engaged. Back a little, then forward a little, lunging, parrying, always that strange, nerve-racking noise of grating steel. It seemed to madame that she must eventually go mad. The vicomte tried all the tricks at his command, but to no avail; he could make no impression on the man in the doorway. Indeed, the vicomte narrowly escaped death three or four different times. The corporal, alive to the shade of advantage which the Chevalier was gaining and to the disaster which would result from the vicomte's defeat, crept slowly up from the side. Madame saw him; but her cry of warning turned into a moan of horror. It was all over. The Chevalier lay motionless on the ground, the blood trickling from a ragged cut above the temple. The corporal had used the hilt of his heavy sword, and no small power had forced the blow.
The vicomte sprang forward just as madame was groping for the knife. He put his foot on it, laughing.
"Not at present, Madame; later, if you are inclined that way. That was well done, Corporal."
The vicomte bound the Chevalier's hands and ankles securely and took the dripping hat from Pauquet, dashing the contents into the Chevalier's face.
"Help me set him up against the wall."
The Chevalier shuddered, and by and by opened his eyes. The world came back to him. He looked at his enemies calmly.
"Well?" he said. He would waste no breath asking for mercy. There was no mercy here.
"You shall be left where you are, Monsieur," replied the vicomte, "while I hold converse with madame inside. You are where you can hear but not see. Corporal, take the men to the canoe and wait for me. Warn me if there is any danger. I shall be along presently. Chevalier, I compliment you upon your fight. I know but a dozen men in all France who are your match."
"What are you going to do?" The Chevalier felt his heart swell with agony.