They went on measuring carefully and in silence.  During the pause I turned my back on the whole party, slipped off my spectacles and put them in my pocket.  Then I lowered the brim of my hat slightly so that the change might not be observed too suddenly—­and resuming my first position, I waited.  It was daylight though not full morning—­ the sun had not yet risen, but there was an opaline luster in the sky, and one pale pink streak in the east like the floating pennon from the lance of a hero, which heralded his approach.  There was a gentle twittering of awakening birds—­the grass sparkled with a million tiny drops of frosty dew.  A curious calmness possessed me.  I felt for the time as though I were a mechanical automaton moved by some other will than my own.  I had no passion left.

The weapons were now loaded—­and the marquis, looking about him with a cheerful business-like air, remarked: 

“I think we may now place our men?”

This suggestion agreed to, Ferrari left his place near the tree against which he had in part inclined as though fatigued, and advanced to the spot his seconds pointed out to him.  He threw off his hat and overcoat, thereby showing that he was still in his evening-dress.  His face was haggard and of a sickly paleness—­his eyes had dark rings of pain round them, and were full of a keen and bitter anguish.  He eagerly grasped the pistol they handed to him, and examined it closely with vengeful interest.  I meanwhile also threw off my hat and coat—­the marquis glanced at me with careless approval.

“You look a much younger man without your spectacles, conte,” he remarked as he handed me my weapon.  I smiled indifferently, and took up my position at the distance indicated, exactly opposite Ferrari.  He was still occupied in the examination of his pistol, and did not at once look up.

“Are we ready, gentlemen?” demanded Freccia, with courteous coldness.

“Quite ready,” was the response.  The Marquis D’Avencourt took out his handkerchief.  Then Ferrari raised his head and faced me fully for the first time.  Great Heaven! shall I ever forget the awful change that came over his pallid countenance—­the confused mad look of his eyes—­the startled horror of his expression!  His lips moved as though he were about to utter an exclamation—­he staggered.

“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.