All this time my pistol had hung in the fingers of my right hand. I took it now in my left, and looked to it, and cried to the duke:
“Are you ready?”
And he answered easily:
“Yes, I’m ready.”
Then I raised my arm and took my aim,—and if the aim were not true on his heart, my hand and not my will deserves the praise of Mercy,—and I cried aloud:
“One!” and paused; and cried “Two!”
And as the word left my lips—before the final fatal “Three!” was so much as ready to my tongue—while I yet looked at the duke to see that I was not taking him unawares—loud and sharp two shots rang out at the same instant in the still air: I felt the whizz of a bullet, as it shaved my ear; and the duke, without a sound, fell forward on the sands, his pistol exploding as he fell.
After all we had our witnesses!