Albert Maurice himself was not, naturally, the most patient of men; and he instantly laid his hand upon his sword. But nobler feelings checked him the moment after; and he paused in the act, saying--"You had better reflect, my lord!"
Before he could add another word, however, the Duke of Gueldres struck him a blow with the pommel of his weapon, that made him reel; and the next moment their blades were crossed.
Complete master of every military exercise, powerful, active, quick-sighted and calm, Albert Maurice was far more than a match for the Duke of Gueldres, though that prince had always been reputed a stout and skilful man-at-arms. So great, indeed, did the young President feel his own superiority to be, that, had he not been heated in some degree by the blow he had received, he would, most probably, have contented himself with wounding or disarming his antagonist. But he was heated with the insult; and in four passes, the sword of the Duke of Gueldres, turned from its course, was wounding the empty air over the shoulder of Albert Maurice, while the blade of the young citizen passed direct through the chest of his adversary.
Albert Maurice recovered his weapon, and gazed for a moment on the Duke, whose mortal career he felt must be at its close. But that unhappy prince stood before him for an instant, still grasping his sword, and still apparently firm upon his feet, though a ghastly swimming of his eyes showed what a convulsive agony was moving his frame within. He made no further effort to lunge again; but he stood there by a sort of rigid effort, which sufficed for a time to keep him from falling, though that was all. The next moment the sword dropped. He reeled giddily; and then fell back with a fearful sort of sobbing in his throat.
Albert Maurice kneeled down beside him, and strove to stanch the blood (which was now flowing copiously from his wounds) in such a degree as to enable him to speak, should he have any directions to give before he died. He brought some water, also, from the brook hard by, and sprinkled his face; and the duke almost instantly opened his eyes, and gazed wildly about for a moment.
Then, as his glance met that of Albert Maurice, he exclaimed, in the same harsh and brutal tone he had before used, "You have slain me fellow! you have slain me! Out upon it, churl! you have spilt some of the best blood of the land."
"My lord," said Albert Maurice, solemnly, "you have brought it on yourself. But think not of that at this moment! You are dying. There is such a thing as another world; and, oh! repent you of your sins while you are yet in this!"
"Is it you tell me to repent?" cried the duke, faintly, "you who have shortened my time for repentance. What know you of my sins?"
"Nothing, but by report, my lord," replied the young citizen; "except, indeed, on one occasion--the fire at the pleasure-house of Lindenmar--the death of the young heir of Hannut!"
The duke groaned. "Oh! were that all," cried he, "were that all, that might soon be pardoned; for my own hands in some degree undid what my own voice commanded. But stay, stay," he added, speaking far more quickly, "stay! The old man, they say, still grieves for his child; still, perhaps, suspects me. Fly to him quick. Tell him the boy did not die in the flames of Lindenmar. Tell him, tell him that I bore him away myself. Tell him that, bad as I was, I could not resist the look of helpless infancy; that I carried him away wrapped in my mantle; and when my own boy died, bred him as mine; that I was kind to him; that I loved him, till the butchers of Duke Philip murdered him, when they cast me into prison at Namur."