"A blank!" he shouted with a blasphemous oath. "À vous, milor! Curse you, why don't you fire?"
"Fire, milor, in Heaven's name," said Mortémar, who was as pale as death. "'Tis cruelty to prolong."
But Eglinton too had dropped his arm.
"M. le Comte de Stainville," he said calmly, "before I use this weapon against you, as I would against a mad dog, I'll propose a bargain for your acceptance."
"You'd buy that packet of precious documents from me, eh?" sneered Gaston savagely, "nay, milor, 'tis no use offering millions to a dying man. . . . Shoot, shoot, milor! the widowed Comtesse de Stainville will deal with those documents and no one else. . . . They are not for sale, I tell you, not for all your millions now!"
"Not even for this pistol, M. le Comte?"
And calm, serene with that whimsical smile again playing round the corners of his expressive mouth, Lord Eglinton offered the loaded pistol to his enemy.
"My life? . . ." stammered Gaston, "you would? . . ."
"Nay, mine, M. le Comte," rejoined milor. "I'll not stir from this spot. I offer you this pistol and you shall use it at your pleasure, after you have handed me that packet of letters."
Instinctively Gaston had drawn back, lost in a maze of surprise.