“It is false, good friends,” cried Vivienne. “The Count does not contemplate an act of justice, but one of vengeance.”
“It is true,” cried Pascal. “He is a son of the man who murdered my father, and by our unwritten law, handed down to us for hundreds of years, his death is but a poor requital for his father’s crime.”
Count Mont d’Oro unsheathed his sword and addressed Pascal:
“It is my right to secure satisfaction for the insult given me before your guests to-night. If in doing this I avenge your wrongs, so much the better.”
As Count Mont d’Oro, with drawn sword, advanced towards Victor, who, unarmed, looked at him proudly and defiantly, loud cries burst from many of the ladies, who averted or covered their faces, while some of the gentlemen exclaimed:
“It is not the Count’s right. It belongs to Pascal and Julien.”
Vivienne turned an entreating face towards Admiral Enright. Would he do nothing to save his friend and brother officer? Then she noticed for the first time that the Admiral’s sword hung by his side. She leaped towards him, grasped the hilt, drew the weapon from its scabbard and, an instant later, placed it in Victor’s hand. Then she reeled, and would have fallen had not the Admiral and his daughter supported her.
Victor was an adroit swordsman. He was cool and collected, while his antagonist was angry and over-confident. Victor felt that the contest meant death to one of them. He loved, and he wished to live. The Count’s passion made him almost a madman, and the fight was of long duration.
“Bless my soul!” cried the Admiral. “That is the most re-mark-a-ble bit of fencing I ever saw.”
But the end came. For an instant the Count was off his guard. Victor saw his opportunity and sent his blade through the Count’s sword-arm.