“One, two, three—fire!”
Both weapons were discharged simultaneously. The earl was conscious of the fact that a bullet passed within an inch or two of his head.
Gerome Chanet staggered for a moment, threw up his arms, and then fell forward on his face.
“See to your man, Monsieur Vasseralt,” exclaimed the chevalier.
Advancing quickly, and in an evident state of trepidation, the young Swiss bent over the prostrate form of his friend, whom he called by name but received no answer. He then turned him over and observed a dark stream of blood oozing from his chest. The ill-fated Chanet breathed one last sigh and expired.
“He is dead! Gracious heaven, he is dead!” exclaimed the Swiss. “Come this way—for mercy’s sake come.”
The chevalier walked deliberately forward and looked in the face of the dead man.
“It is all over with him,” he ejaculated. “He has fallen at the first shot. Well, he brought it on himself, and he has paid the penalty.”
“I wish I had not had any hand in this business,” said Vasseralt. “I do most bitterly regret ever giving my consent to act as second. It is the first time I have been engaged in such a capacity, and I will take good care it shall be the last. Can nothing be done for him?”
“My good fellow, we cannot restore the dead to life,” return De Monpres. “If young men will be rash and hot-headed, and rush into affairs of this sort, they must abide the issue. Your friend is slain, but has died honourably—what more need be said?”