“Even now, if you will go!” said he. “For the girl is mine; and I think that, and not my life or death, is what you care about.”
“The girl is not yours and never will be,” said I. But then I remembered that, the seconds not having come, my scheme had gone astray, and that if he lived in strength, Marie would be well-nigh at his mercy. And on that I grew stern, and the desire for his blood came on me; and he, I think, saw it in my face, for he smiled, and without more turned and walked to his place. And I did the like; and we turned round again and stood facing one another.
All this time my pistol had hung in the fingers of my right hand. I took it now in my left, and looked to it, and cried to the duke:
“Are you ready?”
And he answered easily:
“Yes, I’m ready.”
Then I raised my arm and took my aim,—and if the aim were not true on his heart, my hand and not my will deserves the praise of Mercy,—and I cried aloud:
“One!” and paused; and cried “Two!”
And as the word left my lips—before the final fatal “Three!” was so much as ready to my tongue—while I yet looked at the duke to see that I was not taking him unawares—loud and sharp two shots rang out at the same instant in the still air: I felt the whizz of a bullet, as it shaved my ear; and the duke, without a sound, fell forward on the sands, his pistol exploding as he fell.
After all we had our witnesses!
