He took a gold piece from his purse and threw it in the air.
“Heads!” said the lover, ready to acquiesce to the least of his adversary’s conditions.
“Fate is for you,” said Christian, looking at the coin with marked indifference; “but, remember, if at the signal given by me you do not fire, or only fire in the air, I shall use my right to shoot—You know that I rarely miss my aim.”
These preliminaries ended, the Baron took two guns from his closet, loaded them, taking particular care to show that they were of equal length and the same calibre. He then locked them up in the closet and offered Gerfaut the key.
“I would not do you this injustice,” said the latter.
“This precaution is hardly necessary, since, tomorrow, you will take your choice of those weapons. Now that everything is arranged,” continued the Baron, in a graver tone, “I have one request to make of you, and I think you are too loyal to refuse it. Swear to me that whatever may be the result, you will keep all this a profound secret. My honor is now in your hands; speaking as a gentleman to a gentleman, I ask you to respect it.”
“If I have the sad privilege of surviving you,” replied Gerfaut, no less solemnly, “I swear to you to keep the secret inviolate. But, supposing a contrary event, I also have a request to make to you. What are your intentions regarding Madame de Bergenheim?”
Christian gazed at his adversary a moment, with a searching glance which seemed to read his innermost thoughts.
“My intentions?” said he at last, in a displeased, surprised tone; “this is a very strange question; I do not recognize your right to ask it.”
“My right is certainly strange,” said the lover, with a bitter smile; “but whatever it may be, I shall make use of it. I have destroyed this woman’s happiness forever; if I can not repair this fault, at least I ought to mitigate the effect as much as lies in my power. Will you reply to me—if I die tomorrow, what will be her fate?”