I expected to see our enemy crumble to the floor—dead. To our extreme amazement, as André struck, we heard a sharp click. The sword which De Marsac held, fell, to be sure, rattling to the floor. But no blood flowed, and his body, as though it had been violently pushed, or struck by a man’s fist, tumbled back. He tried to keep on his feet but was too far gone. He measured his length on the floor and in falling knocked his head against one of the legs of the long oaken table. It was the old Count of Gramont who spoke first. “A coat of linked mail!” he cried running over to him. “He wears a coat of mail under his velvet jerkin.” De Marsac was stunned. The old Count caught him roughly by the shoulder and jerked him to his feet. “A trickster!” he shouted in his face. “You are a low-born coward.” De Marsac never uttered a word. He blinked and ran his hand over his eyes till they cleared. The old smile of cunning curled around his lips, but this time it was mingled with contempt and hate. “You Norman dogs!” he hissed. “Do you think I would match my life with yours?” The old man went white with anger. He held his big hand out at arm’s length. He curled it slowly into a knot of a fist and took a deep breath. With what force he could summon he whirled about and struck De Marsac a hard blow in the face. We had not expected it and I think De Marsac was taken by surprise too. His knees sagged under him and his arms fell limp at his side. He would have fallen, had not the old Count caught him again by the shoulder and pushed him into a chair. “You are not the first of your breed that this fist has struck down,” he cried. “In the days gone by it has wielded a battle-ax that laid dozens of your countrymen low. If the time comes,” he added darkly, “it is still strong enough to match itself with another foe.” He took to pacing once more up and down the hall. André walked quietly to the rack and put his sword away. When he came back he picked up De Marsac’s weapon where it had fallen and handed it to him. “You will have no further need of this,” he said in an even tone, “—at least while you are here.” Of the four of us in that room it was De Marsac who first regained his poise. The sting of the rebukes which had been flung into his face soon faded away. He arose without a look at any of us and took his coat over his arm. Then he put his hat upon his head and snapped his sword back into its scabbard. Without a word he walked towards the door and as he went I thought I saw his former jauntiness returning. “Gentlemen,” he said with his fingers on the latch and in a voice of sneering mockery. “You have won tonight, for it is difficult for a man to fight two against one. There will come another meeting when there will be fairer odds. At that time I promise you a different ending to the story.” None of us answered. He closed the door behind him quietly and with no show of anger passed out of the house. I breathed a long sigh.