By this time Pasquini and de Goncourt had sprung to him and he was sinking into their arms.

In faith, it was harder for me to withdraw the steel than to drive it in.

His flesh clung about it as if jealous to let it depart.

Oh, believe me, it required a distinct physical effort to get clear of what I had done.
But the pang of the withdrawal must have stung him back to life and purpose, for he shook off his friends, straightened himself, and lifted his rapier into position.

I, too, took position, marvelling that it was possible I had spitted him heart-high and yet missed any vital spot.
Then, and before his friends could catch him, his legs crumpled under him and he went heavily to grass.