"Nonsense," resumed the young man, with contempt; "without arms!" and with a gesture of nobility, he threw a pistol at the feet of the partisan, at the same time abandoning his gun, and taking his second pistol from his girdle.
"Pardieu! That is a good evasion! If you are as brave as you pretend, here is a weapon—do me justice. You imagine, then, that I am afraid to fight with you?"
"¡Rayo de Dios!" cried the partisan, with rage, "You shall have the pleasure of it!"
And darting at the pistol, he cocked it, and discharged it almost close to the breast of the young man.
The fate of the latter seemed doomed. Considering the little distance which separated him from his adversary, nothing apparently could save him. Happily the partisan, blinded by rage, had not calculated his fire; the ball, badly directed, instead of striking the Frenchman full in the body, only made a slight graze on the arm, and fell harmless.
"Your life belongs to me," coolly said the young man, cocking his pistol in his turn.
"Blow my brains out then, ¡caray!" cried Don Pablo; "Fire, and let all be over!"
"No," replied the young painter, without emotion, "it is well for you to see the difference which exists between a man of your sort and of mine."
"Which means—?" murmured the partisan, when rage stifled.
"That I pardon you!" said Emile.