“They will kill him. They have come to do it. I know--I know,” she cried, until Gabrielle bade her run to the house and get help, when she set off with the speed of fear. Denys was a good swordsman, and, having chosen his ground well, fought warily against the pair, who, over-eager to finish the thing before any help could come, hampered each other, so that d’Estelle, getting in Antoine’s way, tripped and fell. His sword flew out of his hand and rolled close to Gabrielle, who instantly set her foot upon it. The man scrambled quickly to his feet and ran to his sword. “It is not fair, monsieur, two to one,” said Gabrielle angrily. “Take your foot from my sword, mademoiselle,” he answered, a menace in both tone and look. “I will not,” she answered as firmly as before. “Then take the consequences,” he cried fiercely, and with a thrust he pushed her away, and snatching up his weapon, ran to the assistance of Antoine, whom Denys was now pressing fiercely in single combat. “Help, help!” called Gabrielle in a loud voice. “Will no help come?” But help was unexpectedly at hand, for another’s eyes had seen the dastardly attack of d’Estelle. The stranger who had been in the wood had witnessed the last part of the quarrel, and when the two men commenced the attack upon Denys, he had started at a rapid run toward the scene. A loud angry shout now proclaimed his arrival. “You villain, to strike a woman. Two swords to one, gentlemen! This is murder, not fighting. Have a care, monsieur; that rascal is getting behind your back. Ah, a foul, treacherous stroke,” he exclaimed next, as d’Estelle, having crept up behind Denys, ran his blade into his back. As Denys fell, the stranger gave another loud cry and leapt forward. Antoine was about to deliver another thrust while Denys lay on the ground, when his sword was parried by that of the newcomer. “To me, messieurs, to me,” and the two men found themselves the objects of a rapid and vehement attack by a swordsman vastly more skilful than themselves. In a minute d’Estelle was wounded with a slash on the sword-arm, and facing Antoine, the cavalier cried in a voice of thunder: “Now, you assassin, it is your turn.” But Antoine, deserted by his comrade, who ran off as soon as he was wounded, had no heart to face the blade which played round him, threatening death at every flashing turn, gave ground and with a cry of terror, broke away and fled as fast as his legs would carry him. His antagonist was following him, when there came a cry from Gabrielle. “Monsieur--monsieur!” He stopped at the words, turned, bared his head and bowed. “Your pardon, mademoiselle. In my haste to punish a treacherous coward I was forgetting you were alone.” “Monsieur,” said Gabrielle, now lowering her eyes in blushing confusion. It was the cavalier who had rescued her the previous day in the market place; and the rush of thoughts held her tongue-tied in embarrassment. CHAPTER VI “I AM KNOWN AS GERARD DE COBALT.”