ly　have　realised　that　an　obstacle　had　suddenly　arisen　between　him　and　his　bomb…throwing　business　in　the　capital。　Naturally　he　could　not　explain　this　objection　to　his　friends；　so　he　chose　the　course　which　Syme　had　predicted。　He　induced　his　seconds　to　settle　on　a　small　meadow　not　far　from　the　railway；　and　he　trusted　to　the　fatality　of　the　first　engagement。
  When　he　came　down　very　coolly　to　the　field　of　honour；　no　one　could　have　guessed　that　he　had　any　anxiety　about　a　journey；　his　hands　were　in　his　pockets；　his　straw　hat　on　the　back　of　his　head；　his　handsome　face　brazen　in　the　sun。　But　it　might　have　struck　a　stranger　as　odd　that　there　appeared　in　his　train；　not　only　his　seconds　carrying　the　sword…case；　but　two　of　his　servants　carrying　a　portmanteau　and　a　luncheon　basket。
  Early　as　was　the　hour；　the　sun　soaked　everything　in　warmth；　and　Syme　was　vaguely　surprised　to　see　so　many　spring　flowers　burning　gold　and　silver　in　the　tall　grass　in　which　the　whole　company　stood　almost　knee…deep。
  With　the　exception　of　the　Marquis；　all　the　men　were　in　sombre　and　solemn　morning…dress；　with　hats　like　black　chimney…pots；　the　little　Doctor　especially；　with　the　addition　of　his　black　spectacles；　looked　like　an　undertaker　in　a　farce。　Syme　could　not　help　feeling　a　comic　contrast　between　this　funereal　church　parade　of　apparel　and　the　rich　and　glistening　meadow；　growing　wild　flowers　everywhere。　But；　indeed；　this　comic　contrast　between　the　yellow　blossoms　and　the　black　hats　was　but　a　symbol　of　the　tragic　contrast　between　the　yellow　blossoms　and　the　black　business。　On　his　right　was　a　little　wood；　far　away　to　his　left　lay　the　long　curve　of　the　railway　line；　which　he　was；　so　to　speak；　guarding　from　the　Marquis；　whose　goal　and　escape　it　was。　In　front　of　him；　behind　the　black　group　of　his　opponents；　he　could　see；　like　a　tinted　cloud；　a　small　almond　bush　in　flower　against　the　faint　line　of　the　sea。
  The　member　of　the　Legion　of　Honour；　whose　name　it　seemed　was　Colonel　Ducroix；　approached　the　Professor　and　Dr。　Bull　with　great　politeness；　and　suggested　that　the　play　should　terminate　with　the　first　considerable　hurt。
  Dr。　Bull；　however；　having　been　carefully　coached　by　Syme　upon　this　point　of　policy；　insisted；　with　great　dignity　and　in　very　bad　French；　that　it　should　continue　until　one　of　the　combatants　was　disabled。　Syme　had　made　up　his　mind　that　he　could　avoid　disabling　the　Marquis　and　prevent　the　Marquis　from　disabling　him　for　at　least　twenty　minutes。　In　twenty　minutes　the　Paris　train　would　have　gone　by。
  〃To　a　man　of　the　well…known　skill　and　valour　of　Monsieur　de　St。　Eustache；〃　said　the　Professor　solemnly；　〃it　must　be　a　matter　of　indifference　which　method　is　adopted；　and　our　principal　has　strong　reasons　for　demanding　the　longer　encounter；　reasons　the　delicacy　of　which　prevent　me　from　being　explicit；　but　for　the　just　and　honourable　nature　of　which　I　can〃
  〃Peste！〃　broke　from　the　Marquis　behind；　whose　face　had　suddenly　darkened；　〃let　us　stop　talking　and　begin；〃　and　he　slashed　off　the　head　of　a　tall　flower　with　his　stick。
  Syme　understood　his　rude　impatience　and　instinctively　looked　over　his　shoulder　to　see　whether　the　train　was　coming　in　sight。　But　there　was　no　smoke　on　the　horizon。
  Colonel　Ducroix　knelt　down　and　unlocked　the　case；　taking　out　a　pair　of　twin　swords；　which　took　the　sunlight　and　turned　to　two　streaks　of　white　fire。　He　offered　one　to　the　Marquis；　who　snatched　it　without　ceremony；　and　another　to　Syme；　who　took　it；　bent　it；　and　poised　it　with　as　much　delay　as　was　consistent　with　dignity。
  Then　the　Colonel　took　out　another　pair　of　blades；　and　taking　one　himself　and　giving　another　to　Dr。　Bull；　proceeded　to　place　the　men。
  Both　combatants　had　thrown　off　their　coats　and　waistcoats；　and　stood　sword　in　hand。　The　seconds　stood　on　each　side　of　the　line　of　fight　with　drawn　swords　also；　but　still　sombre　in　their　dark　frock…coats　and　hats。　The　principals　saluted。　The　Colonel　said　quietly；　〃Engage！〃　and　the　two　blades　touched　and　tingled。
  When　the　jar　of　the　joined　iron　ran　up　Syme's　arm；　all　the　fantastic　fears　that　have　been　the　subject　of　this　story　fell　from　him　like　dreams　from　a　man　waking　up　in　bed。　He　remembered　them　clearly　and　in　order　as　mere　delusions　of　the　nerveshow　the　fear　of　the　Professor　had　been　the　fear　of　the　tyrannic　accidents　of　nightmare；　and　how　the　fear　of　the　Doctor　had　been　the　fear　of　the　airless　vacuum　of　science。　The　first　was　the　old　fear　that　any　miracle　might　happen；　the　second　the　more　hopeless　modern　fear　that　no　miracle　can　ever　happen。　But　he　saw　that　these　fears　were　fancies；　for　he　found　himself　in　the　presence　of　the　great　fact　of　the　fear　of　death；　with　its　coarse　and　pitiless　common　sense。　He　felt　like　a　man　who　had　dreamed　all　night　of　falling　over　precipices；　and　had　woke　up　on　the　morning　when　he　was　to　be　hanged。　For　as　soon　as　he　had　seen　the　sunlight　run　down　the　channel　of　his　foe's　foreshortened　blade；　and　as　soon　as　he　had　felt　the　two　tongues　of　steel　touch；　vibrating　like　two　living　things；　he　knew　that　his　enemy　was　a　terrible　fighter；　and　that　probably　his　last　hour　had　come。
  He　felt　a　strange　and　vivid　value　in　all　the　earth　around　him；　in　the　grass　under　his　feet；　he　felt　the　love　of　life　in　all　living　things。　He　could　almost　fancy　that　he　heard　the　grass　growing；　he　could　almost　fancy　that　even　as　he　stood　fresh　flowers　were　springing　up　and　breaking　into　blossom　in　the　meadowflowers　blood　red　and　burning　gold　and　blue；　fulfilling　the　whole　pageant　of　the　spring。　And　whenever　his　eyes　strayed　for　a　flash　from　the　calm；　staring；　hypnotic　eyes　of　the　Marquis；　they　saw　the　little　tuft　of　almond　tree　against　the　sky…line。　He　had　the　feeling　that　if　by　some　miracle　he　escaped　he　would　be　ready　to　sit　for　ever　before　that　almond　tree；　desiring　nothing　else　in　the　world。
  But　while　earth　and　sky　and　everything　had　the　living　beauty　of　a　thing　lost；　the　other　half　of　his　head　was　as　clear　as　glass；　and　he　was　parrying　his　enemy's　point　with　a　kind　of　clockwork　skill　of　which　he　had　hardly　supposed　himself　capable。　Once　his　enemy's　point　ran　along　his　wrist；　leaving　a　slight　streak　of　blood；　but　it　either　was　not　noticed　or　was　tacitly　ignored。　Every　now　and　then　he　riposted；　and　once　or　twice　he　could　almost　fancy　that　he　felt　his　point　go　home；　but　as　there　was　no　blood　on　blade　or　shirt　he　supposed　he　was　mistaken。　Then　came　an　interruption　and　a　change。
  At　the　risk　of　losing　all；　the　Marquis；　interrupting　his　quiet　stare；　flashed　one　glance　over　his　shoulder　at　the　line　of　railway　on　his　right。　Then　he　turned　on　Syme　a　face　transfigured　to　that　of　a　fiend；　and　began　to　fight　as　if　with　twenty　weapons。　The　attack　came　so　fast　and　furious；　that　the　one　shining　sword　seemed　a　shower　of　shining　arrows。　Syme　had　no　chance　to　look　at　the　railway；　but　also　he　had　no　need。　He　could　guess　the　reason　of　the　Marquis's　sudden　madness　of　battlethe　Paris　train　was　in　sight。
  But　the　Marquis's　morbid　energy　over…reached　itself。　Twice　Syme；　parrying；　knocked　his　opponent's　point　far　out　of　the　fighting　circle；　and　the　third　time　his　riposte　was　so　rapid；　that　there　was　no　doubt　about　the　hit　this　time。　Syme's　sword　actually　bent　under　the　weight　of　the　Marquis's　body；　which　it　had　pierced。
  Syme　was　as　certain　that　he　had　stuck　his　blade　into　his　enemy　as　a　gardener　that　he　has　stuck　his　spade　into　the　ground。　Yet　the　Marquis　sprang　back　from　the　stroke　without　a　stagger；　and　Syme　stood　staring　at　his　own　sword…point　like　an　idiot。　There　was　no　blood　on　it　at　all。
  There　was　an　instant　of　rigid　silence；　and　then　Syme　in　his　turn　fell　furiously　on　the　other；　filled　with　a　flaming　curiosity。　The　Marquis　was　probably；　in　a　general　sense；　a　better　fencer　than　he；　as　he　had　surmised　at　the　beginning；　but　at　the　moment　the　Marquis　seemed　distraught　and　at　a　disadvantage。　He　fought　wildly　and　even　weakly；　and　he　constantly　looked　away　at　the　railway　line；　almost　as　if　he　feared　the　train　more　than　the　pointed　steel。　Syme；　on　the　other　hand；　fought　fiercely　but　still　carefully；　in　an　intellectual　fury；　eager　to　solve　the　riddle　of　his　own　bloodless　sword。　For　this　purpose；　he　aimed　less　at　the　Marquis's　body；　and　more　at　his　throat　and　head。　A　minute　and　a　half　afterwards　he　felt　his　point　enter　the　man's　neck　below　the　jaw。　It　came　out　clean。　Half　mad；　he　thrust　again；　and　made　what　should　have　been　a　bloody　scar　on　the　Marquis's　cheek。　But　there　was　no　scar。
  For　one　moment　the　heaven　of　Syme　again　grew　black　with　supernatural　terrors。　Surely　the　man　had　a　charmed　life。　But　this　new　spiritual　dread　was　a　more　awful　thing　than　had　been　the　mere　spiritual　topsy…turvydom　symbolised　by　the　paralytic　who　pursued　him。　The　Professor　was　only　a　goblin；　this　man　was　a　devilperhaps　he　was　the　Devil！　Anyhow；　this　was　certain；　that　three　times　had　a　human　sword　been　driven　into　him　and　made　no　mark。　When　Syme　had　that　thought　he　drew　himself　up；　and　all　that　was　good　in　him　sang　high　up　in　the　air　as　a　high　wind　sings　in　the　trees。　He　thought　of　all　the　human　things　in　his　storyof　the　Chinese　lanterns　in　Saffron　Park；　of　the　girl's　red　hair　in　the　garden；　of　the　honest；　beer…swilling　sailors　down　by　the　dock；　of　his　loyal　companions　standing　by。　Perhaps　he　had　been　chosen　as　a　champion　of　all　these　fresh　and　kindly