Apraxin had recovered himself, and, picking up his sword, made a desperate lunge at his antagonist, and I sprang to my feet.
“We have had enough of this,” I exclaimed; but M. de Lambert had taken my sword from the table.
“Nay, M. le Maréchal,” he said, “permit me to settle with this fool;” and he parried another blow that Apraxin aimed at him.
I stood and looked on. M. de Lambert was an expert swordsman, and I saw that Apraxin was no contemptible adversary; but he was wild with jealousy and passion, and attacked his antagonist with blind fury, while M. Guillaume was cool, and, although he had felt his imprisonment, his nerve was steady. Apraxin made fierce thrusts and quick blows, while M. de Lambert was graceful, dexterous, wary. They were nearly matched in height. The Frenchman had the greater breadth of shoulder and depth of chest; the Russian was more lithe and cat-like in his motions. Guillaume was fair, with light brown locks, wildly dishevelled, for his powdered peruke had fallen off; Apraxin’s face was white, and his hair blue black, and there was eager hatred in the tense expression of his features. He began the fight with furious eagerness; then, finding his antagonist composed and fearfully skilful at fencing, he began to husband his strength and watch for an opportunity to strike under M. de Lambert’s guard. He was a good swordsman and used the point to advantage, but he was unsteady with passion, and I saw the wrist falter more than once when he tried to drive a blow home; and while Guillaume was still collected, the beads of perspiration gathered thick on his assailant’s brow, and I saw his eyes dilate and his nostrils stretch and quiver as he labored for breath. M. de Lambert was on the defensive, parrying the other’s eager blows and watching him with an unfaltering eye until the Russian began to waver and struck wildly. So hot grew the fight that their swords flashed in a circle of light and I could scarcely follow their play. Suddenly Apraxin made a mad lunge at his antagonist’s heart, and M. de Lambert, parrying it with a quick movement, gave him a blow that stretched him on the floor. But he sprang up like a tiger, and flew at his adversary’s throat; for a moment they grappled and wrestled, then M. de Lambert, lifting him from his feet, threw him the third time and knelt upon his breast.
“The fellow is mad,” Guillaume said, his own breath coming short, for the struggle though brief had been fierce.
The last fall was severe, and Apraxin had lost consciousness, and after a glance at him M. de Lambert rose and threw water on his face.
“I hope I have not killed the fool,” he said gravely; “he fought like a demon.”
I joined him, and together we made some efforts to revive him, but with poor success; he had struck the back of his head and lay quite still.
“This is unfortunate,” I remarked thoughtfully; “we do not want him here. He must have escaped from Mentchikof, and to Mentchikof he must be returned.”
I stood reflecting upon a proper course of action, and was relieved to see signs of returning animation in the fellow. At this instant Pierrot announced that the carriage had come with Madame de Brousson and mademoiselle, and a plan flashed upon me.