While this scene was going on in the street, another set of combatants
were engaged near the gate; and here two men of very different natures,
but of similar station in life, found themselves together during a
temporary pause, after a protracted struggle. These were Michael Stein,
and Auguste Emile Septimus Plume. In spite of all that he had himself
said against the trade, Michael had, in his old age, turned soldier, and
had been fighting sturdily with a huge woodman's axe, a weapon which he
had chanced to meet with, and the use of which came readily to his hand:
he was now sitting on the step of the gate-house, wiping with the sleeve
of his coat the perspiration which the unaccustomed work had brought to
his forehead, and listening to the praises of M. Plume, who was standing
over him, leaning on his sword.
"That axe of yours," said Auguste, "is a singular weapon, and perhaps
not entirely fitted for military purposes; but I must own you have used
it well--it fell with decided effect this morning on many a poor
fellow's head and shoulders.
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