Cassier had counted them--they are but two; despair has
lent courage to his heart, and will give a giant stroke to his aged
arm.
At the sight of the suspected caleche drawn up in the shady road, one
of the pursuing officers gave spurs to his horse, and flew out before
his companion to seize the prey--to be the first captor of the
delinquent fugitive. Fatal indiscretion! Plunging along at desperate
speed, and dreaming of gold and renown, the burnished sword of Cassier
took his horse on the flank. Its rider fell to the earth; before he
had seen his enemy, the sword of Cassier had pierced his heart.
A scream from the carriage announced that the scene had been witnessed
by tender girls who had not been accustomed to deeds of violence and
bloodshed. But the combat has now but commenced. The battle of the
Horatii and Curatii, on which an empire depended, was not more fierce.
The second gendarme saw the fate of his companion; he reined his horse,
dismounted, and came with drawn sword to meet the Parisian banker, who
had now become a mountain bandit.
When Greek met Greek in the days of old, the earth trembled. Never
was more equal or deadly fight. Cassier had learned the sword exercise
in his youth as a useful art; the police officer was a swordsman from
profession. For a moment sparks flew from the whirling, burnished
blades. The silence of deep resolve wrapt the features of the
combatant in fierce rigidity.
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