I went to Devismes and purchased the weapons. Next morning, at eight o’clock I was with Lucien.
When I entered, he was seated writing at the same table, where his brother had sat writing. He smiled when he saw me, but he was very pale.
“Good morning,” he said, “I am writing to my mother.”
“I hope you will be able to write her a less doleful letter than poor Louis wrote eight days ago.”
“I have told her that she may rest happy, for her son is avenged.”
“How are you able to speak with such certainty?”
“Did not my brother announce to you his own approaching death? Well, then, I announce to you the death of M. de Chateau Renaud.”
He rose as he spoke, and touching me on the temple, said—
“There, that’s where I shall put my bullet.”
“And yourself?”