I have you now, and I'll settle your
account! Take that!" And so saying, he dealt his supposed creditor
a terrible blow with his clinched fist that sent him reeling to
the other end of the shop.
Fortunately, Chupin was very nimble. He did not lose his footing,
but sprung over a table and used it as a rampart to shield himself
from his dangerous assailant. In the open field, he could easily
have protected himself; but here in this narrow space, and hemmed
in a corner, he felt that despite this barrier he was lost. "What
a devil of a mess!" he thought, as with wonderful agility he
avoided Vantrasson's fist, a fist that would have felled an ox.
He had an idea of calling for assistance. But would any one hear
him? Would any one reply? And if help came, would not the police
be sure to hear of the broil? And if they did, would there not be
an investigation which would perhaps disturb Pascal's plans?
Fearing to injure those whom he wished to serve, he resolved to
let himself be hacked to pieces rather than allow a cry to escape
him; but he changed his tactics, and instead of attempting to
parry the blows as he had done before, he now only thought of
gaining the door, inch by inch.
He had almost reached it, not without suffering considerable
injury, when it suddenly opened, and a young man clad in black,
with a smooth shaven face, entered the shop, and sternly
exclaimed: "Why! what's all this?"
The sight of the newcomer seemed to stupefy Vantrasson.
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