"Monsieur is a Pole; he speaks French very badly! indeed, he fairly murders it." "So we observe," rejoined the count, with a smile. "But it's none too warm here, and I am anxious to have done with this affair. It seems to me that we shall be very well placed behind this low wall." "I agree with you, monsieur le comte." They walked a short distance, and halted behind a wall which would serve to conceal the combatants from any chance passers-by. While the principals removed their coats, the younger of the count's seconds handed to the water-carrier two swords which he carried out of sight under his overcoat. The Auvergnat measured them so long that Cherami went to him and took one out of his hands. "They're all right!" he exclaimed; "they're exactly alike! I will take this one, unless monsieur le comte prefers it." But Monsieur de la Beriniere at once took the other, while his older second grumbled: "In God's name, who are these two idiots of seconds who know absolutely nothing as to what they are doing?" Cherami at once stood on guard, saying: "At your service, monsieur le comte, whenever you choose." "I am here, monsieur." Monsieur de la Beriniere had been a very good fencer in his youth, but years had impaired his agility and strength. It was easy to see that Cherami was sparing his adversary, to whom he observed, as he parried his thrusts: "Well done, monsieur le comte! very pretty work, indeed! You must have been a fine fencer formerly." But these compliments, instead of flattering the count, stung and irritated him, because he saw that his opponent was playing with him; and he suddenly cried: "What the devil! in God's name, monsieur, attack! you confine yourself to parrying! Do you think you're fighting with a novice?" "Is that your wish, monsieur le comte? Solely to comply then----" And Cherami, suddenly striking down his adversary's sword, plunged his own into the count's right side. Monsieur de la Beriniere staggered a moment, then fell. "_Fouchtra!_ he's got his reckoning!" cried the Auvergnat, while the count's witnesses ran forward to help him and carry him off the field. But, at a sign from Cherami, the tall Piedmontese lifted the wounded man in his arms as if he were a child, and carried him to the elegant equipage, in which a surgeon was waiting, who had come with the gentlemen, but whom they had not thought it necessary to take with them to the field of battle. "There's one job done!" said the young water-carrier. The count's seconds could hardly keep up with him. In the end, they seated themselves by the wounded man's side in the carriage, which drove away at a walk. "The wound can't be dangerous," said Cherami to his seconds, when they were alone; "it's in among the ribs. He will be laid up a fortnight or three weeks, unless I touched some vital part. Ah! they forgot to take away their sword. I will carry it back myself, and that will give me an opportunity to inquire for the count."