"One!" cried D'Avencourt.
We raised our weapons.
"Two!"
The scared and bewildered expression of Ferrari's face deepened visibly as he eyed me steadily in taking aim. I smiled proudly--I gave him back glance for glance--I saw him waver--his hand shook.
"Three!" and the white handkerchief fluttered to the ground. Instantly, and together, we fired. Ferrari's bullet whizzed past me, merely tearing my coat and grazing my shoulder. The smoke cleared--Ferrari still stood erect, opposite to me, staring straight forward with the same frantic faroff look--the pistol had dropped from his hand. Suddenly he threw up his arms--shuddered--and with a smothered groan fell, face forward, prone on the sward. The surgeon hurried to his side and turned him so that he lay on his back. He was unconscious--though his dark eyes were wide open, and turned blindly upward to the sky. The front of his shirt was already soaked with blood. We all gathered round him.
"A good shot?" inquired the marquis, with the indifference of a practiced duelist.
"Ach! a good shot indeed!" replied the little German doctor, shaking his head as he rose from his examination of the wound. "Excellent! He will be dead in ten minutes. The bullet has passed through the lungs close to the heart. Honor is satisfied certainly!"
At that moment a deep anguished sigh parted the lips of the dying man. Sense and speculation returned to those glaring eyes so awfully upturned. He looked upon us all doubtfully one after the other--till finally his gaze rested upon me. Then he grew strangely excited--his lips moved--he eagerly tried to speak. The doctor, watchful of his movements, poured brandy between his teeth. The cordial gave him momentary strength--he raised himself by a supreme effort.
"Let me speak," he gasped faintly, "to HIM!" And he pointed to me--then he continued to mutter like a man in a dream--"to him--alone--alone!--to him alone!"
The others, slightly awed by his manner, drew aside out of ear-shot, and I advanced and knelt beside him, stooping my face between his and the morning sky. His wild eyes met mine with a piteous beseeching terror.
"In God's name," he whispered, thickly, "WHO ARE YOU?"
"You know me, Guido!" I answered, steadily. "I am Fabio Romani, whom you once called friend! I am he whose wife you stole!--whose name you slandered!--whose honor you despised! Ah! look at me well! your own heart tells you who I am!"
He uttered a low moan and raised his hand with a feeble gesture.