“There is yet time,” he went on, “to offer me some slight apology; and offer it you must, or you will die sir! You rely even now on your dexterity, and do not shrink from an encounter in which you believe all the advantage to be upon your side. Very good, sir; I am generous, I am letting you know my superiority beforehand. I possess a terrible power. I have only to wish to do so, and I can neutralize your skill, dim your eyesight, make your hand and pulse unsteady, and even kill you outright. I have no wish to be compelled to exercise my power; the use of it costs me too dear. You would not be the only one to die. So if you refuse to apologize to me, not matter what your experience in murder, your ball will go into the waterfall there, and mine will speed straight to your heart though I do not aim it at you.”
Confused voices interrupted Raphael at this point. All the time that he was speaking, the Marquis had kept his intolerably keen gaze fixed upon his antagonist; now he drew himself up and showed an impassive face, like that of a dangerous madman.
“Make him hold his tongue,” the young man had said to one of his seconds; “that voice of his is tearing the heart out of me.”
“Say no more, sir; it is quite useless,” cried the seconds and the surgeon, addressing Raphael.
“Gentlemen, I am fulfilling a duty. Has this young gentleman any final arrangements to make?”
“That is enough; that will do.”
The Marquis remained standing steadily, never for a moment losing sight of his antagonist; and the latter seemed, like a bird before a snake, to be overwhelmed by a well-nigh magical power. He was compelled to endure that homicidal gaze; he met and shunned it incessantly.
“I am thirsty; give me some water——” he said again to the second.
“Are you nervous?”
“Yes,” he answered. “There is a fascination about that man’s glowing eyes.”