D'Alvimar had promised to place his adversary at his mercy and to spare his life; but, in so far as the moonlight enabled him to distinguish his expression, it seemed to Guillaume that rage and hate were exhibited therein with increasing intensity, and his sharp, close sword-play gave no indication of prudence or of generous purpose. Luckily the marquis was still calm and held his ground with more endurance and elasticity than could have been expected. Guillaume could say nothing, and contented himself with coughing two or three times, to warn D'Alvimar to show more moderation, without arousing the sensibility of the marquis, who might have lost his head altogether, if he had suspected that he was not taken seriously. [Illustration: _THE DUEL BETWEEN THE MARQUIS AND D'ALVIMAR._ _His game was a difficult one to play. He wished to kill the marquis and to seem to kill him unintentionally._] But the contest was serious enough. D'Alvimar felt that he had an adversary inferior to himself in theory; but he was himself disturbed and preoccupied and inferior to himself in practice. His game was a difficult one to play. He wished to kill the marquis and to seem to kill him unintentionally. So he tried to make him run himself through, by acting on the defensive; and the marquis seemed to detect his stratagem, for he acted cautiously. The duel was prolonged for some time without result. Guillaume relied on the marquis's fatigue, thinking that D'Alvimar would not strike him down. D'Alvimar found that the marquis showed no signs of giving way; he tried to excite him by feints, hoping that a feeling of impatience would lead him to depart from the surprising prudence of his play. Suddenly the moon was veiled by a dark cloud, and Guillaume tried to interpose to suspend the combat; he had not time: the two champions were rolling on the ground. A third champion rushed toward them, at the risk of being spitted; it was Adamas, who, having lost his head and not knowing which had the advantage, plunged wildly into the fray. Guillaume threw him back with violence, and saw the marquis kneeling on D'Alvimar's body. "Mercy, cousin!" he cried; "mercy for him who would have spared you!" "It is too late, cousin," replied the marquis, rising. "Justice is done!" D'Alvimar was nailed to the earth by the marquis's long rapier; he had ceased to live. Adamas had swooned. At the cry of mercy, Bois-Doré's servants had hurried to the spot. The marquis was leaning against a rock, breathless and exhausted. But he showed no weakness, and, the moon having emerged from the cloud, he stood erect again to look at the body, and stooped to touch it. "He is quite dead!" said Guillaume in a reproachful tone. "You have killed a friend of mine, monsieur, and I am unable to congratulate you upon it; for your suspicions must be unjust."