The tyrant’s club encountering Merindol’s cudgel broke it short off, and the latter finding himself disarmed, took to his heels; not however without receiving a tremendous blow on the shoulder before he could get out of Herode’s reach.  Scapin, for his part, had seized Labriche suddenly round the waist from behind, pinning down his arms so that he could not use his club at all, and raising him from the ground quickly, with one dexterous movement tripped him up, and sent him rolling on the pavement ten paces off, so violently that he was knocked senseless—­the back of his neck coming in contact with a projecting stone—­and lay apparently lifeless where he fell.

So the way was cleared, and the victory in this fierce encounter was honourably gained by our hero and his two companions over the four sturdy ruffians, who had never been defeated before.  They were in a sorry plight—­Azolan and Basque creeping stealthily away, on their hands and knees, trying under cover of the darkness to put themselves beyond the reach of further danger; Labriche lying motionless, like a drunken man, across the gutter, and Merindol, less badly hurt, flying towards home as fast as his legs could carry him.  As he drew near the house, however, he slackened his pace, for he dreaded the duke’s anger more than Herode’s club, and almost forgot, for the moment, the terrible agony from his dislocated shoulder, from which the arm hung down helpless and inert.  Scarcely had he entered the outer door ere he was summoned to the presence of the duke, who was all impatient to learn the details of the tremendous thrashing that, he took it for granted, they had given to Captain Fracasse.  When Merindol was ushered in, frightened and embarrassed, trembling in every limb, not knowing what to say or do, and suffering fearfully from his injured shoulder, he paused at the threshold, and stood speechless and motionless, waiting breathlessly for a word or gesture of encouragement from the duke, who glared at him in silence.

“Well,” at length said the Chevalier de Vidalinc to the discomfited Merindol, seeing that Vallombreuse only stared at him savagely and did not seem inclined to speak, “what news do you bring us?  Bad, I am sure, for you have by no means a triumphant air—­very much the reverse, indeed, I should say.”

“My lord, the duke, of course cannot doubt our zeal in striving to execute his orders, to the best of our ability,” said Merindol, cringingly, “but this time we have had very bad luck.”

“What do you mean by that?” asked the duke sharply, with an angry frown and flashing eyes, before which the stout ruffian quailed.  “There were four of you! do you mean to tell me that, among you, you could not succeed in thrashing this miserable play-actor?”