any one who could have beheld this would have been frightened.

There was in it a touch of the combat of Don Juan and the statue.

“Christ and Satan!” exclaimed the captain. “That is a word which rarely strikes the ear of a Ch�teaupers! Thou wilt not dare repeat it.”

“Thou liest!” said the shadow coldly.

The captain gnashed his teeth. Surly monk, phantom, superstitions, — he had forgotten all at that moment. He no longer beheld anything but a man, and an insult.

“Ah! this is well!” he stammered, in a voice stifled with rage. He drew his sword, then stammering, for anger as well as fear makes a man tremble: “Here! On the spot! Come on! Swords! Swords! Blood on the pavement!”