'Let go you,' sputtered d'Aubusson's voice, and we loosed each other. I had no time for another word, and grasping my sword, which was hanging to my wrist by the knot, I sprang up, and the next moment was hot foot after de Gomeron. I managed somehow to force my way through the crowd, but the stairway was half-full of men, and at the head of it stood the free-lance, with a red sword in his hand, and two or three huddled objects that lay in shapeless masses around him. Some one, with a reckless indifference to his own life--it was, I afterwards found out, Pantin--held up a torch, and as the flare of it shot up the stairway de Gomeron threw back his head and laughed at us. 'Twenty to one--come, gentlemen--or must I come to you?' He took a couple of steps down the stairs, and the crowd, that had made as if it would rush him, wavered and fell back, bearing me, hoarse with shouting for way, with them to the landing. For the moment, penned up and utterly unable to get forward, I was a mere spectator to what followed. The free-lance took one more downward step, and then a slight figure, with one arm in a sling, slid out from the press and flew at him. It was d'Ayen, and I felt a sudden warming of the heart to the man who was going to his death. 'You--you traitor,' he gasped, as, using his sword with his left hand, his sword ripped the free-lance's ruff. 'Stand back, old fool--stand back--or--there! Take it,' and, with a sharp scream, d'Ayen fell backwards, the crowd splitting for a moment, so that he rolled to the foot of the stairs and came up at my feet. God rest his soul! He died at the last like a gallant man. They were backing in confusion now, and above the din I could hear the mocking of de Gomeron. 'Come, gentlemen, do not delay, time presses.' One rush through at that time might have saved him, but he stood there playing with death. With an effort I pushed d'Ayen, who was still breathing, against the side of the wall, to let the poor wretch die in such comfort as could be, and, seeing my chance at last, made my way to the front. De Gomeron was half-way down the stairs by this, and when our swords met he did not for the moment recognise me. But at the second pass he realised, and the torchlight showed him pale to the forehead. 'You!' he said between his teeth. 'Yes--I--from under the Seine,' and I had run him through the throat but for our position, where the advantage was all his, and my reach too short. He had backed a step up as I spoke. Whether it was my sudden appearance or what, I know not, but from this moment his bravado left him, and he now fought doggedly and for dear life. There was a hush behind me, and the light became brighter as more torches were brought, and I could now see the Camarguer white as a sheet, with two red spots on his cheeks. 'Do you like fighting a dead man, monsieur?' I asked as I parried a thrust in tierce.