There is but one thing to be done; to
kill the one who had just uttered it. Ogareff rises and sees the blind
courier! Thinking he has an immense advantage over the blind man, he
throws himself upon him. But with one hand Michael grasps the arm of his
enemy and hurls him to the ground. Ogareff gathers himself together like
a tiger about to spring, and utters not a word. The noise of his
footsteps, his very breathing, he tries to conceal from the blind man.
At last, with a spring, he drives his sword full blast at Michael's
breast. An imperceptible movement of the blind man's knife turns aside
the blow. Michael is not touched, and coolly waits a second attack. Cold
drops stand on Ogareff's brow; he draws back a step and again leaps
forward. But like the first, this attempt fails. Michael's knife has
parried the blow from the traitor's useless sword. Mad with rage and
terror, he gazes into the wide open eyes of the blind man. Those eyes
which seemed to pierce to the bottom of his soul, and which did not,
could not, see, exercise a sort of dreadful fascination over him.
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