"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Fatia Negra--he must have put on a coat of mail beneath his jacket--and the same instant he countered so savagely that if the lieutenant had not dodged his head, he must have lost it.

As it was the sword pierced through his shako and out poured the gold pieces by thousands on to the highroad.
At the sight of the shower of gold pieces, Fatia Negra roared like a demon.

What he had done hitherto was a mere joke--now the battle began in grim earnest.
"Down with your heads, down with your headpieces!" he thundered, and with the fury of a lion he flung himself on his opponents, everyone of whom wore on his head the dangerous magnet which irresistibly attracted his flashing sword.
He himself was invulnerable.

Neither sword nor lance could penetrate his shirt of mail.

And meanwhile his companions were rapidly galloping up.
Now another shako flew into the air and the horse's hoofs trampled the falling ducats in the mud.
"Shoot down his horse!" cried the voice of the post-office functionary from the rear, and the same instant three pistol shots resounded.