“That is true.”
“I obeyed that order, for I was then ignorant that this great culprit, thus transported, had committed no other crime than that of being the lover of your sister.”
“Sir,” cried Emanuel, starting up.
“These are very fine pistols, count,” carelessly continued Paul, playing with the weapons which the Count d’Auray had placed upon the table, on alighting from his carriage.
“And they are ready loaded,” said Emanuel, in a tone which was not to be mistaken.
“Are they so?” returned Paul, with affected indifference.
“That is a matter of which you can assure yourself, if you will take a turn in the park with me.”
“There is no necessity for going out to do that,” replied Paul, without pretending to understand Emanuel’s proposal in the sense which he meant to give to it; “here is a mark which is well placed, and at a proper distance.”
Saying these words, the captain cocked the pistol, and pointed it through the open window towards the top of a small tree. A goldfinch was rocking himself on the highest branch, singing forth his shrill and joyful notes. Paul fired, and the poor bird, cut in two, fell at the foot of the tree. Paul coolly replaced the pistol on the table.
“You were perfectly right, count,” said he, “they are excellent weapons, and I advise you not to part with them.”