“I came here,” continued the banker, “with the intention of killing you both. But I cannot kill a woman, and I will not kill an unarmed man.”
Raoul once more tried to speak.
“Let me finish!” interrupted M. Fauvel. “Your life is in my hands; the law excuses the vengeance of an injured husband; but I refuse to take advantage of it. I see on your mantel a revolver similar to mine; take it, and defend yourself.”
“Never!”
“Defend yourself!” cried the banker raising his arm, “if you do not—”
Feeling the barrel of M. Fauvel’s revolver touch his breast, Raoul in self-defence seized his own pistol, and prepared to fire.
“Stand in that corner of the room, and I will stand in this,” continued the banker; “and when the clock strikes, which will be in a few seconds, we will both fire.”
They took the places designated, and stood perfectly still.
But the horror of the scene was too much for Mme. Fauvel to witness any longer without interposing. She understood but one thing: her son and her husband were about to kill each other before her very eyes. Fright and horror gave her strength to start up and rush between the two men.
“For God’s sake, have mercy, Andre!” she cried, wringing her hands with anguish, “let me tell you everything; don’t kill—”