It was the supreme indifference of a man who with life had nothing else to lose.
His hand was absolutely steady as he took the dice-box and threw:
"Blank!" murmured Mortémar under his breath, as he saw the result of the throw. Yet the face of milor was as impassive as before, even though now by all the rules of chance Gaston's was the winning hand.
"Three!" he said calmly, as the dice once more rolled on to the table. "Monsieur le Comte, the choice of weapon rests with you."
Once more Mortémar tried to interpose. This was monstrous! horrible! a shocking, brutal murder!
"Monsieur de Stainville knows his own weapons," he said impulsively, "he discharged one this morning and . . ."
"Milor should have thought of this before!" retorted Stainville savagely.
"The remark did not come from me, Monsieur," rejoined Eglinton passively, "an you will choose your weapon, I am fully satisfied."
But his grave eyes found occasion to send a kindly glance of gratitude to young de Mortémar. The latter felt a tightening of his very heart strings: he would at this moment have willingly given his fortune to avert the awful catastrophe.
"Mortémar, an you interfere," said Gaston, divining his thoughts, "I'll brand you as a meddler before the Court of Versailles. An you are afraid to see bloodshed, get you gone in the name of hell."