It so happened that the guard, having nothing better to do, strolled along the terraces by the same path that Mensmore and Bruce had followed. The first sight that met his astonished eyes, when in the flood of moonlight he discovered their identity, was the spectacle of these two springing at each other like a pair of wild cats. "_Parbleu_," he shouted, "the solitary ones are fighting!" He ran forward, drawing his short sword, ready to stick the weapon into either of the combatants if the majesty of the law in his own person were not at once respected. In reality, the affair was simple enough. Mensmore made an ineffectual attempt to draw his revolver, and Bruce pinioned him before he could get his hand up to his pocket. Both men were equally matched, and it was difficult to say how the struggle might have ended had not the sword-brandishing guard appeared on the scene. Claude, even in this excited situation, kept his senses. Mensmore, blind with rage and the madness of one who would voluntarily plunge into the Valley of the Shadow, took heed of naught save the effort to rid himself of the restraining clutch. "Put away your sword. Seize his arms from behind. He is a suicide," shouted the barrister to the gesticulating and shrieking Frenchman. Fortunately, Bruce was an excellent linguist. The man caught Mensmore's arms, put a knee in the small of his back, and doubled him backwards with a force that nearly dislocated his spine. In the same instant Claude secured the revolver, which he promptly pocketed. "It is well," he said to the guard. "Here is a louis. Say nothing, but leave us." "Monsieur understands that the honor of a French policeman--" "I understand that if there is any report made of this affair to the authorities you will be dismissed for negligence. Had this lunatic been left to your care he would now have been lying here dead. Do you doubt me?" The guard hesitated. "Monsieur mentioned a louis," he said, for Bruce's finger and thumb had returned the coin to his waistcoat pocket. This transaction satisfactorily ended, Bruce accosted Mensmore, who was awkwardly twisting himself to see if his backbone were all right. "You are not hurt, I hope?" "It is matterless. Why could you not let me finish the business in my own way?" "Because the world has some use for a man like you. Because you are a moral coward, and require support from a stronger nature. Because I did not want to think of that girl crying her eyes out to-morrow when she read of your death, or heard of it, as she assuredly would have done." Mensmore, though still furious at his fellow-countryman's interference, was visibly amazed at this final reference. "What do you know about her?" he cried. "Nothing, save what my eyes tell me." "They seem to tell you a remarkable lot about my affairs." "Possibly. Meanwhile I want you to give me your word of honor that you will not make any further attempt on your life during the next seven days."