As Lambernier saw the giant’s fist coming down upon him, he darted to one side and the blow only struck the air, making the coachman stumble from the force of his impetuosity.  Lambernier profited by this position to gather all his strength, and threw himself upon his adversary, whom he seized by the flank and gave such a severe blow as to bring him down upon his knees.  He then gave him a dozen more blows upon the head, and succeeded in overthrowing him completely.

If the coachman had not had a cranium as hard as iron, he probably could not have received such a storm of fisticuffs without giving up the ghost.  Fortunately for him, he had one of those excellent Breton heads that break the sticks which beat them.  Save for a certain giddiness, he came out of the scramble safe and sound.  Far from losing his presence of mind by the disadvantageous position in which he found himself, he supported himself upon the ground with his left hand, and, passing his other arm behind him, he wound it around the workman’s legs, who thus found himself reaped down, so to speak, and a moment later was lying on his back in front of his adversary.  The latter, holding him fast with his strong hands, placed a knee, as large as a plate, upon his chest and then pulled off the cap that his enemy had pushed down over his eyes, and proceeded to administer full justice to him.

“Ah! you thought you’d attack me treacherously, did you?” said he, with a derisive chuckle as if to slacken the speed of his horses.  “You know short reckonings make good friends.  Oh! what a fine thrashing you are going to receive, my friend!  Take care! if you try to bite my hand, I’ll choke you with my two fingers, do you hear!  Now, then, take this for the green toad; this, for my horses’ sake; this, for Mademoiselle Marianne!”

He followed each “this” with a heavy blow from his fist.  At the third blow the blood poured out of the mouth of the carpenter, who writhed under the pressure of his adversary’s knee like a buffalo stifled by a boa-constrictor; he succeeded at last in freeing one hand, which he thrust into his trousers’ pocket.

“Ah! you rascal!  I am killed!” howled the coachman, giving a bound backward.  Lambernier, profiting by his freedom, jumped upon his feet, and, without troubling himself as to his adversary, who had fallen on his knees and was pressing his hand to his left thigh; he picked up his cap and vest and started off through the clearing.  Rousselet, who until then had prudently kept aside, tried to stop the workman, at a cry from his companion, but the scoundrel brandished his iron compass before his eyes with such an ugly look that the peasant promptly left the way open for him.

At this tragic and unexpected denouement, Bergenheim, who was getting ready to make his appearance from behind the trees and to interpose his authority, started in full pursuit of the would-be murderer.  From the direction he took, he judged that he would try to reach the river by passing over the rock.  He walked in this direction, with his gun over his shoulder, until he reached the foot of the steps which descended into the grotto.  Christian crouched behind some bushes to wait for Lambernier, who must pass this way, and it was at this moment that Gerfaut, who was forty feet below him, saw him without suspecting the reason for his attitude.