They had not begun to fight, but had busied themselves clearing the space of all obstacles.  The table was pushed against the wall in the corner by the door; the chairs were heaped one on another at the end of the room.  Both shutters were wide open.  M. Etienne, bareheaded, in his shirt, stood at guard.  Lucas was kneeling on the floor, picking up with scrupulous care some bits of a broken plate.  He sprang to his feet at sight of me.

“What is it?” cried M. Etienne.

“Cutthroats.  They’ll be here in a minute.”

Even as I spoke, I heard tramping on the stairs below.  My slam of the door had warned them that something was wrong.

“Was that your delay?” M. Etienne shouted, springing at his foe.

“I play to win!” Lucas answered, smiling.

The blades met; the men circled about and about.  Lucas, though he preferred to murder, knew how to duel.

We were doomed.  With monsieur’s sword for only weapon, we could never hope to pass the gang.  In another minute they would be here to batter the door down and end us.  Our consolation lay in killing Lucas first.  Yet as I watched, I feared that M. Etienne, in the brief moments that remained to him, could not conquer him, so shrewd and strong was Lucas’s fence.  Must the scoundrel win?  I started forward to play Pontou’s trick.  Lucas sought to murder us.  Why not we him?

One flash from my lord’s eyes, and I retreated in despair.  For I knew that did I touch Lucas, M. Etienne would let fall his sword, let Lucas kill him.  And the bravos were on the last flight.

Was there no escape?  There were three doors in the room.  One led to the passage, one to the closet, the third—­I dashed through to find myself in a large empty chamber, a door wide open giving on the passage.  Through it I could see the dusky figures of four men running up the stairs.

I was across the room like an arrow, and got the door shut and bolted before they could reach the landing.  The next moment some one flung against it.  It stood firm.  Delaying only a moment to shake it, three of the four I could hear run to the farther door, whence issued the noise of the swords.

I, inside the wall, ran back too.  The combat still raged.  Neither, that I could see, had gained the least advantage.  Outside, the murderers dashed themselves upon the door.

I dragged at the heavy table, and, with a strength that amazed myself, pushed and pulled it before the door.  It would make the panels a little firmer.

Was there no escape?  None?  I ran once more into the second chamber.  Its shutters were closed; I threw them open.  There was no other door to the room, no hiding-place.  There was a chimney, but spanned a foot above the fireplace by two iron bars.  The thinnest sweep that ever wielded broom could not have squeezed between them.

In despair, I ran to the window again.  Top of the house as it was, I thought I would sooner leap than be stabbed to death.  I stuck my head out.  It was the same window where I had stood when Grammont seized me.  There, not ten feet away, eight at the most, but a little above me, was the casement of my garret in the Amour de Dieu.  Would it be possible to jump and catch the sill?  If I did, I could scarce pull myself in.