And, being without sword or other weapon, he aimed a blow of the fist at Blaise's head. Blaise, disdaining to use steel against an unarmed antagonist, contented himself with dodging the blow and dragging Barbemouche to a place where an opening in the courtyard wall overlooked a steep, rocky descent which was for some distance without vegetation. Here the two men grappled. There was some hard squeezing, some quick bending either way, a final powerful forcing forward of the arms on the part of Blaise, a last violent propulsion of the same arms, and Barbemouche was thrown backward down the precipice. Blaise stood for a time looking over. We heard a series of dull concussions, a sound of the flight of detached small stones, and then nothing. "God giveth the battle to the strong!" said Blaise, and he came away from the precipice. De Berquin shrugged his shoulders, and turned again to me. "As I said, monsieur," he began, "I have come here to do you a service." "Indeed!" said I, coldly, choosing to assume indifference and ignorance. "I knew not that I was in need of any." "Your need of it is all the greater for that," said De Berquin, quietly. "Monsieur, I would hinder some one from doing you a foul deed, though to do so I must rob that person of your esteem." "Speak clearly, M. de Berquin," said I, thinking that he was taking the wrong way to get my confidence. "It is impossible that any one having my esteem should need hindrance from a foul deed." De Berquin stood perfectly still and looked me straight in the face, saying: "Is it a foul deed to betray a man into the hands of his enemies?" "Yes," said I, thoughtfully, wondering that he should try to begin that very act by accusing some one else of intending it. "Then, monsieur," he went on, "look to yourself." But I looked at him instead, with some amazement at the assurance with which he continued to face me. "And what man of my following would you accuse of intending to betray me?" I asked. "No man, monsieur," he said, still meeting my gaze steadily, and not changing his attitude. "No man?" I repeated, for a moment puzzled. "Oh, ho! The boy, Pierre, perhaps, who left us while we were at the inn by the forest road! Well, monsieur, you speak falsely. I would stake my arm on his loyalty." "It is not to tell you of any boy that I have sought you these many days in this wilderness," said De Berquin, all the time standing as motionless as a statue, and speaking in a very low voice. "It is not a boy that has come from M. de la Chatre, the governor of the province, to betray you." "Not man nor boy," I said, curious now to learn what he was aiming at. "What, then? Mademoiselle's maid, honest Jeannotte? You must take the trouble to invent something else, M. de Berquin. You become amusing." "Not the maid, monsieur," he replied, very quietly, putting a stress on the word "maid," and facing me as boldly as ever.