I ran to my fallen adversary, kneeled by him, and could only sob his name.
He bade me compose myself.

'You have given me the key of the fields, comrade,' said he.

'_Sans rancune_!' At this my horror redoubled.

Here had we two expatriated Frenchmen engaged in an ill-regulated combat like the battles of beasts.

Here was he, who had been all his life so great a ruffian, dying in a foreign land of this ignoble injury, and meeting death with something of the spirit of a Bayard.