"Beat down their blades," cried the Master; "no bloodshed. She had thought to wear it now, since she must look more the demoiselle. She pulled him down by his lapels and arched her head readily towards his neck. ’ ‘Eh bien, it is your fault entirely in this case. " Figg turned aside to hide the tears that started to his eyes,—for the stout prizefighter, with a man's courage, had a woman's heart,—and the procession again set forward. He himself, middle-aged, steeped in traditions of the City and moneymaking, very ill-skilled in all the lighter graces of life, as he himself well knew, could yet come to her invested with something of the halo of romance by the almost magical powers of an unlimited banking account.
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