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"Mordi! I know you again well enough," replied CoconYou were redder than that

nas, "in spite of your pale face.

the last time we met!"

"And I," said la Mole-" I also recognise you, in spite of that yellow line across your face. You were paler than that when I made that mark for you!"

Coconnas bit his lips, but, resolved on continuing the conversation in a tone of irony, he said—

"It is curious, is it not, monsieur de la Mole, particularly for a huguenot, to be able to look at the admiral suspended from an iron hook? And yet they say that we are guilty of killing even the small huguenots, who were sucking at the breast."

"Comte," said la Mole, bowing, "I am no longer a huguenot; I have the happiness to be a catholic!"

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"Bah!" exclaimed Coconnas, bursting into loud laughter 66 you are a convert-eh, sir? Well, that's well managed!" Sir," replied la Mole, with the same seriousness and the same politeness, "I made a vow to become a convert if I escaped the massacre."

"Comte," said the Piedmontese, "that was a very prudent vow, and I beg to congratulate you. Made you no others?" "Yes," answered la Mole, "I made a second." And as he said so, he patted his horse with entire coolness.

"And what might that be?" inquired Coconnas.

"To hang you up there, by that small nail which seems to await you beneath M. de Coligny."

"What, as I am now," asked Coconnas, "alive and merry?"

"No, sir; but after having passed my sword through your body!"

Coconnas became purple, and his eyes darted flames. "You are not tall enough to do it, my little sir!"

"Then I'll get on your horse, my great manslayer," replied la Mole. "Ah, you believe, my dear M. Hannibal de Coconnas, that one may with impunity assassinate people under the loyal and honourable cover of a hundred to one, forsooth! But the day comes when a man finds his man; and I believe that day has come now. I should very well like to send a bullet through your ugly head; but, bah! I might miss you,

for my hand is still trembling from the traitorous wounds you inflicted upon me."

"My ugly head!" shouted Coconnas, dismounting hastily. "Down-down from your horse, M. le comte, and draw!" And he drew his own.

La Mole alighted as calmly as Coconnas had done so precipitately; he took off his cherry-coloured cloak, laid it leisurely on the ground, drew his sword, and put himself on guard.

"Ah!" he said, as he stretched out his arm.

"Oh!" muttered Coconnas, as he did the same-for both, as it will be remembered, had been wounded in the shoulder. A burst of laughter, ill repressed, came from the clump of bushes, and reached the ears of the two gentlemen, who were ignorant that they had witnesses, and, turning round, beheld their ladies.

La Mole resumed his guard as firm as an automaton, and Coconnas crossed his blade with an emphatic Mordi!

"Ah! then now they will murder each other in real earnest, if we do not interfere. There has been enough of this. Hola, gentlemen!-hola!" cried Marguerite.

"Let them be-let them be!" said Henriette, who, having seen Coconnas fight, hoped in her heart that Coconnas would make as short work with la Mole as he had done with the two nephews and the son of Mercandon.

"Oh, they are really beautiful so !" exclaimed Mar guerite. Look-they seem to breathe fire!"

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And the combat, begun with railleries and mutual provocation, became silent, as soon as the champions had crossed their swords. Both distrusted their strength, and each, at every quick pass, was compelled to restrain an expression of pain occasioned by his old wounds. With his eyes fixed and burning, his mouth half open, and his teeth clenched, la Mole advanced with short and firm steps towards his adversary, who, seeing in him a most skilful swordsman, retreated step by step. They both thus reached the edge of the fosse, on the other side of which were the spectators; then, as if his retreat had been only a simple stratagem to draw nearer to his lady, Coconnas took his stand, and on a motion of his blade, a little too wide, by his adversary, with the

L

quickness of lightning, thrust in quart, and in a moment the white satin doublet of la Mole was stained with a spot of blood which kept growing larger.

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Courage!" cried the duchess.

"Ah, poor la Mole!" exclaimed Marguerite, with a cry of distress.

La Mole heard this cry, darted at the queen one of those looks which penetrate the heart even deeper than the sword's point, and taking advantage of a false parade, thrust vigorously at his adversary.

This time the two women uttered two cries which seemed like one. The point of la Mole's rapier had appeared, all covered with blood, behind Coconnas' back.

Yet neither fell. Both remained erect, looking at each other with open mouth, and feeling that on the slightest movement they must lose their balance. At last the Piedmontese, more dangerously wounded than his adversary, and feeling his senses forsaking him with his blood, fell on la Mole, grasping him with one hand, whilst with the other he endeavoured to unsheath his poniard. La Mole, on his part, roused all his strength, raised his hand, and let fall the pommel of his sword on Coconnas's forehead, who, stupified by the blow, fell, but in his fall drew down his adversary with him, and both rolled into the fosse.

Then Marguerite and the duchess de Nevers, seeing that, dying as they were, they were still struggling to destroy each other, hastened towards them, followed by the captain of the guards, but before they could reach them, their hands unloosened their mutual clutch, their eyes closed, and the combatants, letting go their grasp of their weapons, stiffened as in their final agony.

A large stream of blood flowed from each.

"Oh, brave, brave la Mole!" cried Marguerite, unable any longer to repress her admiration. "Ah! pardon me a thousand times for having a moment doubted your courage."

And her eyes filled with tears.

"Alas! alas! " murmured the duchess, "gallant Hannibal. Did you ever see two more intrepid heroes, madame?" And she sobbed aloud.

"Indeed, they were ugly thrusts," said the captain, en

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deavouring to stanch the streams of blood.
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He addressed a man who, seated on a kind of tumbril, or cart, painted red, was singing a snatch of an old song.

The carter, whose repulsive exterior formed a singular contrast with the sweet and sylvan song he was singing, stopped his horse, came towards the two bodies, and looking at them, said

"These be terrible wounds, sure enough, but I have made worse in my time."

"Who, then, are you?" inquired Marguerite, experiencing, in spite of herself, a certain vague terror which she could

not overcome.

"Madame," replied the man, bowing down to the ground, "I am maître Caboche, headsman to the provostry of Paris, and I have come to hang up at the gibbet some companions for monsieur the admiral."

"Well! and I am the queen of Navarre," replied Marguerite, "and I bid you cast your corpses down there, spread in your cart the housings of our horses, and bring these two gentlemen softly behind us to the Louvre."

CHAPTER XVII.

THE RIVAL OF MAITRE AMBRQise paré,

THE tumbril, in which were la Mole and Coconnas, took the road to the Louvre, following at a distance the group that served as a guide. It stopped at the Louvre, and the driver was amply rewarded. The wounded men were carried to the duke d'Alençon's lodgings, and maître Ambroise Paré sent for.

The sword had

When he arrived, they were both insensible. La Mole was the least hurt of the two. pierced him below the right armpit, but without touching any vital part. As for Coconnas, he was run through the lungs, and the air that escaped from his wound made the flame of a candle waver.

Ambroise Paré would not answer for Coconnas.
Madame de Nevers was in despair.

She it was who, re

lying on Coconnas's courage and skill, had prevented Marguerite from interposing.

In order to conceal the cause of their wounds, Marguerite in having them transported to her brother's apartments, where one of them was already installed, said, they were two gentlemen who had been thrown from their horses; but the real story became known, in consequence of the intense admiration of the captain who had witnessed the duel, and who related all the particulars, and our two heroes had soon a brilliant reputation at court.

Attended by the same surgeon, they both passed through the different stages of convalescence, arising from the different degrees of severity of their wounds. La Mole was the first who came to himself. As for Coconnas, he was in a high fever, and his return to life was marked by all the signs of delirium.

Although in the same room as Coconnas, la Mole had not perceived his companion, or, at least, had given no indication of it. Coconnas, on the contrary, when he opened his eyes, fixed them on la Mole with an expression that proved that the blood he had lost had not modified the passions of his ñery temperament.

Coconnas thought he was dreaming, and that in this dream he saw the enemy he imagined he had twice slain. Then, that after having observed la Mole laid, like himself, on a couch, and his wounds dressed by the surgeon, he saw him rise up in bed, while he himself was still too weak to move, then get out of bed, then walk, first leaning on the surgeon's arm, and then on a cane, and, in the end, without assistance.

Coconnas, still delirious, viewed these different stages of his companion's recovery with eyes sometimes fixed, at others wandering, but always threatening.

Then arose in his mind, more wounded than his body, an insatiable thirst of vengeance. He was wholly occupied with one idea, that of procuring some weapon, and piercing this vision that so cruelly persecuted him. His clothes, stained with blood, had been placed on a chair by his bed, but were afterwards removed, it being thought imprudent to leave them in his sight; but his poniard still remained on the

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