“How shall I teach you a lesson of honor; sir,” cried Norwood, boiling over with rage, “so that you may comprehend, even for a moment, the feeling of a gentleman? You cannot affect ignorance as to who and what is the woman that sat there. You need not drive me to the indignity of calling her my wife! You know it well, and you knew all the disgrace you were heaping on a class who rejected your intimacy. None of this mock surprise, sir! If you compel me to it, I 'll fling open that door, call all your household around you, and before them I 'll insult you, so that even your serf-blood will rebel against the outrage.”
“This is madness,——downright insanity, my Lord,” said Midchekoff, rising and moving towards the bell.
“Not so, sir,” said Norwood, interposing. “My passion is now mastered. You shall not escape on that pretence. There are my pistols; only one of them is loaded; take your choice, for I see that outside of this room I shall seek in vain for satisfaction.”
“This would be a murder.”
“It shall be, by Heaven, if you delay!” cried Norwood. “I have the right and the will to shoot you like a dog. If there be no honor, is there not even some manhood in your heart? Take your weapon; you hesitate still,—take that, then!” And he struck him with his open hand across the face.
Midchekoff snatched the pistol convulsively, and, placing the muzzle on Norwood's breast, fired. With a wild cry he staggered and fell dead upon the floor. The Prince flung open the door, and rang the bell violently. In a moment the room was filled with servants. “Send Jocasse here,” said Midchekoff; and his chief secretary entered in all haste and trepidation. “This is an affair for the police, Jocasse,” said the Prince, coolly. “Send for the brigadier, and let him come to my room.”
“Suicide shows a great manque de savoir vivre,” said Haggerstone, as the news of the event was circulated through Florence. And the mot survived the memory of its victim.