Then, laying hold of one
of the three from behind, and pinning down his arms securely, he placed
him in front of himself for a shield--turning him dexterously this
way and that, in order to keep his body always between his own and the
enemy; so that they dared not fire upon him lest they should kill their
comrade, who was vehemently beseeching them to spare his life, and
vainly struggling to escape from Scapin's iron grip.
The combat between de Sigognac and Malartic was still going on, but at
last, the baron--who had already wounded his adversary slightly, and
whose agony and desperation at being kept from prosecuting his search
for Isabelle were intense--wrested Malartic's sword from his grasp, by a
dexterous manoeuvre with his own, and putting his foot upon it as it lay
on the floor raised the point of his blade to the professional ruffian's
throat, crying "Surrender, or you are a dead man!"
At this critical moment another one of the besieging party burst in
through the window, who, seeing at a glance how matters stood, said to
Malartic in an authoritative tone, "You can surrender without dishonour
to this valiant hero--you are entirely at his mercy. You have done your
duty loyally--now consider yourself a prisoner of war.
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