"If you are the spider, I'm the golden fly, Skeleton of evil," cried a voice, at the moment when Germain, surprised at the violent and sudden attack of his implacable enemy, had fallen back on the bench entirely at the mercy of the ruffian, who, with his knee on his breast, held him by the neck. "Yes, I will be the fly, and a fly of the right sort!" repeated the man in the blue cap, of whom we have already spoken, and then, with a fierce spring, he dashed upon the Skeleton, and assailed him on the skull and between his eyes with a shower of blows from his fist, so tremendous that it sounded like the noise of a smith's hammer ringing on an anvil. [Illustration: "_The Skeleton Staggered at First_" Original Etching by Marcel] The man in the blue cap, who was no other than the Chourineur, added, as he redoubled the quickness of his hammering on the Skeleton's head: "It is the shower of blows which M. Rodolph drummed on my sconce, and I have recollected them." At this unexpected assault the prisoners were all struck with surprise, and did not take part either for or against the Chourineur. Several of them, still under the influence of the salutary impression made on them by Pique-Vinaigre's story, were even glad of an event which saved Germain. The Skeleton staggered at first, and, reeling like an ox under the butcher's poleaxe, mechanically extended his hands to try and ward off his adversary's blows, and Germain, thus freed from the deadly clutch of the Skeleton, half raised himself. "What does this mean? Who is this scoundrel?" exclaimed Le Gros-Boiteux, and, rushing at the Chourineur, he endeavoured to seize his arms from behind, whilst the latter was making violent efforts to keep the Skeleton down on the bench. Germain's defender replied to Le Gros-Boiteux's attack by a kind of kick, so violent that it sent the cripple rolling on the ground to the farther end of the circle formed by the prisoners. Germain, whose face was livid and purple, half suffocated, and on his knees by the bench, seemed unconscious of all that was passing around him. The strangulation had been so violent that he could scarcely breathe. After his first surprise was over, the Skeleton, by a desperate effort, contrived to keep the Chourineur off and regain his feet. Breathless, drunk with rage and hatred, he was fearful to look upon. His cadaverous face streamed with blood, his upper lip curled like that of a furious wolf, exposed his teeth clenched against each other. At last he exclaimed, in a voice palpitating with anger and exertion, for his struggle had been very violent: "Stab him,--the ruffian!--you cowards, who let me be traitorously attacked, or the informer will escape!"