He looked at me sullenly; then his rage came again upon him, and he cried: 

“Take your place:  stand where you like, and, in God’s name, be quick!” And he paused, and then added:  “I cannot live another night—­” And he broke off again, and finished by crying:  “Quick!  Are you ready?”

Seeing there was no help for it, I took up a position.  No more words passed between us, but with a gesture he signed to me to move a little:  and thus he adjusted our places till we were opposite one another, about two yards between us, and each presenting his side direct to the sun, so that its slanting rays troubled each of us equally, and that but little.  Then he said: 

“I will step back five paces, and do you do the like.  When we are at the distance, do you count slowly, ‘One—­two—­three,’ and at ‘Three’ we will fire.”

I did not like having to count, but it was necessary that one of us should; and he, when I pressed him, would not.  Therefore it was arranged as he said.  And I began to step back, but for an instant he stayed me.  He was calm now, and he spoke in quiet tones.

“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!

CHAPTER XX.

The Duke’s Epitaph.