Part 23 (1/2)

I pulled, and drew the short bent.

He took a cap from a small cylindrical metal case he carried in his pocket, and fixed it on the nipple of his pistol. Then he handed the weapon to me.

I took it from him, examined it with the greatest care--I see it now; it was an old-fas.h.i.+oned firearm of Spanish make,--stood a pace only back from him, fixed my eye on his, with a sudden jerk flung the pistol fifty paces behind me, and throwing myself upon Marc, bore him to the ground, and held him there in a vice!

Then began our struggle for life!

At first, the advantage was mine. I was a-top. In strength we had always been pretty equally matched. Sometimes I had been able to throw Marc, sometimes he had thrown me. Now the contest was unequal. It is true I had the advantage of fighting for life, but the struggle was with the supernatural strength of a madman. I had dropped my stick before taking the pistol from the hand of Marc. In this tussle it would have been of no service to me. This was man to man.

I pinned mad Marc to the ground, my hands on his arms, my knees on his chest. He writhed, and tore, and struggled under me. No word was spoken between us. The advantage was with me. Thus we continued for what seemed an immense length of time--for what was, perhaps, a quarter of an hour. It was an incessant struggle with us both; with me to keep Marc Debois down--with Marc to master me.

I felt my strength giving way. My joints were stiffening, my fingers becoming numb with the pressure. Besides this, I was in a profuse sweat, caused by the violent exertion, and partly by the alarm at what would happen if I should, in turn, be under the giant frame of Marc. It was to the accident of throwing him first, by my sudden and unexpected attack, that I owed the last fifteen minutes of my life. If I spoke, I found it made him more violent in his efforts to master me. I thought the sound of my voice maddened him the more.

My brain seemed clogged. At first, thought had followed thought with painful rapidity. My life had pa.s.sed before me in panoramic procession.

Now I had a novel feeling, such as I had never experienced before. Was I--the thought was terrible!--was I, under the horrible fascination of Marc's eye--losing my reason? I made an effort to think. To rouse myself I multiplied fifteen by sixty. Nine hundred--nine hundred seconds of my life had pa.s.sed in this fearful struggle with a madman!

How many more seconds had I to live? How much longer could I hold my own? Not long! I was rapidly becoming exhausted. I commended myself to the Almighty.

Hark! wheels--coming.

Marc hears the sound, too. I am weak now. He makes one gigantic effort. I am overcome. His great fingers fasten with a desperate clutch upon my throat. He will tear out my gullet.

I become insensible.

When I come to myself I am seated on the box of the carriage which had conveyed Cecile and M. Andre to the chateau. It had pa.s.sed us on its way back.

We are near Benevent.

It is three strong men's work inside the chaise to restrain Marc and keep him from murdering them.

We drive to the office of police. A little crowd follows us. I am able to give some formal evidence. Then I am taken home. The unfortunate man is placed under proper restraint. There is a great buzz of excitement in Benevent.

n.o.body recognises Marc; he is so changed. I do not disclose his name.

It is better to wait the course of events.

After the fearful peril of the last hour, I am astonished to find myself alive. I am alive, and thankful.

After the struggle in the defile I was unable to leave my bed for some days. I had been much tried both in mind and body; but I received the kindest attention from the good friends around me.

In these little places every trifle creates a mighty stir. All Benevent came to inquire after my health. I had been killed. No; well, then, nearly done to death by a murderous a.s.sa.s.sin escaped from the galleys.

The police knew him. It was the same man who five years before had attempted the life of the Emperor. He had a homicidal mania. There were a hundred different reports--none of them true.

I was examined and re-examined; examined again, and cross-examined. You have formed the conclusion that I am a witness, if I choose, out of whom not much can be got. I battled the Maire, the prefect, the police. I had been attacked by a man who carried a pistol, and I was rescued by some persons returning from M. Andre's chateau in a chaise. What could be more simple? And these are the facts duly entered--wrapped in plenty of official verbiage--in police record.

I had everybody's sympathy. I had something better. Sympathy one can't spend; francs one can. A subscription was raised for my benefit. I was compelled to accept the money--a thousand francs of it. The rest--some odd hundreds of francs and a bundle of warm clothing, intended for me by some Benevent valetudinarian, together with thirteen copies of religious books and two rosaries--I presented to the cure for distribution among the poor of his parish.

But I had a weight on my mind even francs could not remove--Marc and Cecile.