As he approached the pavilion, he felt himself alternately bathed in a cold perspiration, or burning with all the fire of fever. At length he arrived, advancing slowly and with caution, and looked in at the green window.
By the expiring light of the fire he recognised the kind of white cloak, with a hood to it, that Bertha usually wore. Seated on a cushion, the young lady's back was to him. She was pressing her lips on the forehead of a man kneeling at her feet, with both his arms round her.
"She fell without a cry on the shoulders of the individual who embraced her."
With a movement more rapid than thought, De Brévannes opened the door, entered, aimed his gun between the shoulders of his victim, and fired. She fell without a cry on the shoulders of the individual who embraced her.
"And now it is your turn, beau prince!—a double shot!" exclaimed De Brévannes, turning the barrel of his gun to the head of the man who was trying to rise.
At the moment he was about to fire the door of the second chamber of the châlet opened violently behind him. Some one whom he did not see turned aside the gun, and prevented him from committing a second crime. De Brévannes, too, looked round, and saw—De Hansfeld!
At this moment the man who had been kneeling before the female rose up, and rushing on De Brévannes, exclaimed,—"Assassin!"
"De Morville!" cried De Brévannes, recognising him by the light of the fire, which threw out a momentary blaze.
"You have murdered Madame de Hansfeld, assassin!" repeated De Morville.