“Sir,” said the grave and solemn voice of the baron, “you will still be too near me.”
“Well, sir baron, I give you precedence,” said Belleville, laughing, “though, I believe, I have the right; but age must have the precedence—fire, sir.”
“No, young man,” said Marshal, sadly; “I will grant you one more glance at the glad sun and the fresh, green earth; you shall fire first, and I council you to lay aside your levity; let your hand be firm and your aim steady; if you fail, you are lost. I am a good shot, and I am without mercy.”
There was something so convincing, so gloomy in his tone, that Belleville was involuntarily affected by it. For the first time his brow was clouded, and a slight pallor took possession of his cheek; but he forced back this prophetic shudder quickly, and raised his pistol with a firm hand.
Far away, in the still park, sounded the echo of his shot; but opposite to him stood his adversary, firm and calm as before, with his eye fixed steadily upon him.
Belleville threw his pistol to the ground, and drawing his gold snuff-box from his vest-pocket with his small white hands, adorned with cuffs of lace, he played carelessly upon the lid; then opened it, and slowly and gracefully took a pinch of snuff, saying, coolly, “I await your ball.”
Marshal raised his pistol and aimed directly at the head of his enemy, who looked him firmly in the eye. The appearance of this youthful, fresh, and brave face softened, against his will, the noble and magnanimous soul of this good man. He let his arm fall. “Sir,” said he, “you are so young, perhaps your life may improve. I will not kill you. But you need for this life a great, impressive lesson and a lasting warning. I will therefore shoot you through the right leg, just above the knee.” [Footnote: The words of Baron Marshal.—See Thiebault.] He raised the pistol quickly, and fired. As the smoke was lifted, Belleville was seen lying bleeding on the ground. The shot had gone right through the knee and broken the knee-pan.
As his second bowed over him, Belleville whispered, with broken eyes and trembling lips: “My legacy! do not forget my legacy! I believe I shall die; this pain is horrible.”
The Frenchman took the paper from his pocket and concealed it “I will be avenged,” said Belleville, with a convulsive smile, then sank into unconsciousness.
Belleville was placed in the carriage of Baron Marshal and carried to the city. Baron Marshal went immediately to the commandant of Berlin, gave notice of what had taken place, and declared himself under arrest.