They knew
that in time they must wear him out, but time was very precious to the
vicomte. The Chevalier's point laid open the rascal's cheek, it ripped
open Fremin's forehead, it slid along Pauquet's hand. A cold smile
grew upon the Chevalier's lips and remained there. They could not
reach him. There was no room for four blades, and soon the vicomte
realized this.
"Satan of hell, back, three of you! We can gain nothing this way. Let
me have him alone for a while."
The vicomte's allies drew away, not unreluctantly; and the two engaged.
Back a little, then forward a little, lunging, parrying, always that
strange, nerve-racking noise of grating steel. It seemed to madame
that she must eventually go mad. The vicomte tried all the tricks at
his command, but to no avail; he could make no impression on the man in
the doorway. Indeed, the vicomte narrowly escaped death three or four
different times. The corporal, alive to the shade of advantage which
the Chevalier was gaining and to the disaster which would result from
the vicomte's defeat, crept slowly up from the side. Madame saw him;
but her cry of warning turned into a moan of horror.
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