The next morning, the two duelists, with their seconds and a doctor, went to a secluded section of the Black Forest, about an hour’s ride from the resort. The day was bright and the cleared spot in the forest, where blood would flow and probably a life be sacrificed, had been well chosen by the seconds the preceding day.
The preliminaries over, the two men took their stand, facing each other at fifteen paces. Pistols were leveled. They awaited the word to fire—Heinecke cool and determined, de Rochelle perhaps equally determined but rather shaky, having spent the previous evening drinking champagne in celebration of the coming duel.
Sana was up before daybreak that morning. When Heinecke left, she followed in an automobile, at a distance, so as not to arouse suspicion. At a road crossing she had lost track of Heinecke’s car, but shortly afterward discovered it, and another, parked by the roadside. She ordered the chauffeur to stop the car, jumping from it before it had come to a standstill.
As she did so, she heard two shots ring out simultaneously, echoing and re-echoing through the silent forest. In feverish haste she ran in the direction from whence the sound had come. Another deafening report vibrated the morning air. Turning aside, Sana came upon the clearing. The two combatants still held their ground, while the seconds were reloading the pistols. The weapons again in their hands, Heinecke and de Rochelle renewed the combat. As they leveled the pistols, Sana wanted to cry out, but running forward blindly, stumbled and fell. As she arose, she heard the word “Three” and looking up saw the flash of the shots. To her horror, she saw one of the men, she could not tell which, waver and sink helpless to the earth.
“Oh, God!” The words came in a quivering cry. Because of her, a woman, a man had just fallen wounded, perhaps dead.
At the cry a man stepped forward. It was Heinecke. He pointed in the direction of de Rochelle, who, badly wounded in the right shoulder, was being attended by the doctor.
Sana looked at the fallen man. Then came reaction. With a withering look of scorn, and unmindful of Heinecke’s outstretched hand, she upbraided him, “Shame unto you! You have soiled your hands and stained your soul with the blood of a creature not worthy of the bullet you fired into him!”
At her cry he stepped forward, pointing in the direction of de Rochelle, who, badly wounded in the right shoulder, was being attended by the doctor.
Heinecke looked at the girl in a strange, curious way, then looking toward de Rochelle, he spoke in a low and somewhat sad tone, “If it had not been for his coming, you might have been mine by this time. I feel like putting this man out of your way and life forever. Leave me—for a while at least.”