I did not wait long. The next day, when I was occupied in composing an elegy, and sat biting my pen while trying to think of a rhyme, Shvabrin tapped at my window. I threw down my pen, took up my sword, and went out to him.
“Why should we delay any longer?” said Shvabrin; “nobody is observing us. Let us go down to the river; there no one will disturb us.”
We set out in silence. Descending a winding path, we stopped at the edge of the river and drew our swords. Shvabrin was more skilful in the use of the weapon than I, but I was stronger and more daring, and Monsieur Beaupré, who had formerly been a soldier, had given me some lessons in fencing which I had turned to good account. Shvabrin had not expected to find in me such a dangerous adversary. For a long time neither of us was able to inflict any injury upon the other; at last, observing that Shvabrin was beginning to relax his endeavours, I commenced to attack him with increased ardour, and almost forced him back into the river. All at once I heard my name pronounced in a loud tone. I looked round and perceived Savelitch hastening down the path towards me.... At that same moment I felt a sharp thrust in the breast, beneath the right shoulder, and I fell senseless to the ground.
[1] A Russian dramatic poet, once celebrated, but now almost forgotten. His most popular works were two tragedies, “Khoreff,” and “Pemetrius the Pretender.”
[2] A minor poet of the last century.
[3] Crowns are held above the heads of the bride and bridegroom during the marriage ceremony in Russia.