"Stop the flow of blood!" cried Marion casting at me an angry look. "Just you try to stop the flow of the blood from my wound, and you will see how I will receive you--" "I shall endeavor to save you," I answered, "despite yourself." As I spoke I approached Marion who lay flat upon his back. Just as I stooped over him he bent both his knees over his stomach and immediately struck out violently with his feet. The kick took me in the chest and threw me over upon the grass--so powerful was the expiring Hercules. "Will you still bring me help despite myself?" asked Marion as I rose up, not angry but desolate over his brutality. If I should be overcome in this sad struggle, it was clear that I would be compelled to give up the hope of bringing help to the wounded man. "Very well! Die!" I said to him, "since such is your wish. Die, since you forget that Gaul needs your services. But be sure of one thing--your death will be avenged--we shall discover the name of your assassin--" "There has been no assassin--I gave myself the wound--" "This sword belongs to someone," I said picking up the weapon. As I examined it I thought I could see through the blood that covered it that its blade bore an inscription. To ascertain the fact, I wiped it with some leaves. While I was engaged at this Marion cried in agony: "Will you leave that sword alone! Quit rubbing upon the blade! Oh! My strength fails me, or I would rise and snatch the weapon from your hands. A curse upon you, who have come to disturb my last moments! Oh! It must be the devil who sent you!" "It is the gods who sent me!" I cried struck almost dumb with horror. "It is Hesus who sent me for the punishment of the most horrible of crimes! A friend slay his friend!" "You lie! You lie!" "It is Eustace who dealt you the wound!" "You lie! Oh! Why am I sinking so fast--I would smother those words in your cursed throat!" "You were struck by this sword, the gift of your friendship to an infamous murderer--" "It is false!" "'_Marion forged this sword for his dear friend Eustace_'--that is the sentence engraved upon this blade," I replied to him pointing with my finger at the inscription graven in the steel. "This is the sword that you forged yourself." "The inscription proves nothing," observed Marion in great anguish. "The man who struck me stole the sword from my friend Eustace--that's all." "You still seek to screen that man! Oh! There will be no punishment too severe for the cowardly murderer!" "Listen, Schanvoch," replied Marion in a sinking and suppliant voice: "I am about to die--nothing is denied to an expiring man--" "Oh! Speak! Speak, good and brave soldier. Seeing that, to the misfortune of Gaul, fatality prevents me from saving you, speak! I shall execute your last will--" "Schanvoch, the oath that soldiers give each other at the moment of death--is sacred, is it not?" "Yes, my brave Marion."