The seconds now stepped at once to their posts, halfway between the combatants, one of them on each side of the line of fire. Wilson was to count, very deliberately, “One-two-three-fire!—stop!” and the duelists could bang away at any time they chose during that recitation, but not after the last word. Angelo grew very nervous when he saw Wilson's hand rising slowly into the air as a sign to make ready, and he leaned his head against Luigi's and said:
“Oh, please take me away from here, I can't stay, I know I can't!”
“What in the world are you doing? Straighten up! What's the matter with you?—you're in no danger—nobody's going to shoot at you. Straighten up, I tell you!”
Angelo obeyed, just in time to hear:
“One—!”
“Bang!” Just one report, and a little tuft of white hair floated slowly to the judge's feet in the moonlight. The judge did not swerve; he still stood erect and motionless, like a statue, with his pistol-arm hanging straight down at his side. He was reserving his fire.
“Two—!”
“Three—“!
“Fire—!”
Up came the pistol-arm instantly-Angelo dodged with the report. He said “Ouch!” and fainted again.