"Monsieur, will you jump?"

The latter looked for a moment at the marquis,
and, without replying, seized the sword
upon which the corpse of his friend had fallen,
and at once placed himself in position. At
the end of some seconds, during which the
officer had shown much useless resolution, he
received a sword thrust in the breast, and rolled
expiring on the ground. He had, however, a
few minutes yet to live.

The doctor quitted the dead man to hasten
to the wounded one, and called the other second
to his assistance, but Lignano, now grown
infuriated, threw himself in the unhappy man's
way, and was about to repeat his offensive
proposal for the third time. He was, however,
saved the trouble.

"I understand you," calmly observed the
officer, seizing his comrade's sword, and placing
himself face to face with the terrible marquis.
Some seconds later he sank down in his blood.

Only the doctor now remained. Would any
human being credit it, the bloodstained bully,
brutal as he naturally was, was rendered positively
fiendlike by the intoxication of the slaughter
which he had already perpetrated, and longed
for more blood to shed? Addressing himself
to the doctor in a tone of command, he required
him to jump over the switch.

The doctor did not hesitate. He did what
most other men would have done in his place.
He jumped over the switch, and by so doing
was able to continue his attentions to two
wounded men, and to save the life of one of
them.

The intimacy which existed between the Marquis
de Lignano and Lucien Claveau, instead
of growing weaker after the last sanguinary
freak seemed to constitute itself on an entirely
new basis, and to assume the proportions of
a sincere and lasting friendship, if one may dare
thus to degrade the term. They were always
to be seen together, rivetted as it were to the
factitious attachment which they professed to
feel for each other, like a couple of galley slaves
united by the same chains. At last they took
to inhabiting the same suite of rooms, as though
each wanted to have the other constantly in
reach. It would be difficult to explain friendship
between two men so utterly opposed to
each other on the score of birth, education, and
manners, for the Marquis de Lignano, spite of
his misdeeds, had always kept up the outward
appearance of a man born and brought up in
good society, whereas Lucien Claveau was of
obscure origin, brusque in manners, and deficient
in education. His handsome face and muscular
figure were, moreover, strikingly in contrast
with the marquis's repulsive features and feeble
frame. We have mentioned that the pair lived
together in the same suite of apartments, but
omitted to state that they occupied the same
sleeping room, in which each had, of course,
his separate bed.

One summer's morning, long after the hour
at which the two friends usually quitted their
bedroom, the man-servant who waited upon
them both, hearing nothing whatever of either
of his masters, began to feel rather uneasy.
His orders were never to disturb them, but
always to wait until he was summoned.
Accustomed to their irregular mode of life, he
was not in the habit of sitting up for them
of an evening, still he always knew, on entering
the sitting-room the next day, either by
some directions written in pencil, or by some
clothes being placed there for him to brush,
whether or not the two friends were at home.
Now on that morning he had found, according
to custom, a short pencilled note which proved
that the pair had returned oernight. How
then was the continued silence in their bedroom,
to be accounted for? Like a good and faithful
servant he had of course applied his ear to the
door, and his eye to the keyhole, and had moreover
turned the handle, and found the door to be
locked on the inside. As the day advanced he
grew alarmed, and proceeded to force the door.
Entering the room on tiptoe, he felt somewhat
reassured when on leaning over each bed he saw
by the dim light which penetrated through the
closed shutters, that his masters were to all
appearance peacefully sleeping. He was about
to retire as he had entered, with the greatest
caution, when his foot struck against something,
that gave forth a ringing sound as it
rolled along the floor. He had evidently kicked
against a sword.

A frightful suspicion crossed the valet's mind.
Wilhout losing a moment he groped his way to
the window, threw open the shutters, and saw
at a glance that the room was in a frightful
state of disorder. Clothes were strewn about,
furniture was overturned, candlesticks, vases, and
various knick-knacks scattered over the floor,
while by the side of each bed was a sword, the
bloody stains on which too clearly indicated that
a desperate encounter, a horrible and deadly
struggle, had taken place between these men,
who, as if in bitter derision of their miserable
destiny, reposed side by side like two brothers
under the same roof.

At the sight of all this havoc the valet
uttered a terrified cry, on hearing which the
marquis and Lucien, both of whom had
appeared dead, rose up, at the same instant, in
their beds. Both were ghastly pale; their
bloodstained shirts were torn to rags; their
chests punctured with wounds; the right arm
of one was dreadfully hacked, while the neck
of the other showed a series of gashes sickening
to contemplate. Spite, however, of all the pain
they were enduring, spite, too, of their weakness,
and of the burning fever which consumed them,
they preserved their sitting posture, glaring at
eacli other out of their glassy-looking eyes,
enfeebled it is true, but still not vanquished. So
long as they had sufficient strength left them to
injure, they would continue to defy each other
with proud disdain.

They remained thus for several seconds.
Suddenly Lucien Claveau, overcome by some
painful impression, fell heavily back and gave