On the instant Oswald snatched the fateful parchment from the table, and threw it on the floor; "You shall not sign it, Fritz!" he exclaimed, his voice hoarse with indignation; then turning to the Conte, he said sharply, "You see that my cousin is not equal to the excitement of an interview like the present. May I beg you to leave us?"
The Conte sprang up, his breath came in quick gasps, and a dark menace shot from the eyes that he rivetted upon the young man's face.
"May I beg you to leave the room," Oswald repeated with icy disdain.
"You show me to the door?"--the Conte said, beside himself with rage,--"you dare to do this to me--you--were not my hints the other day plain enough?...."
Oswald lost all self-control; "Scoundrel! Liar!" he gasped hoarsely. His riding-whip lay on the table--he seized it and pointed to the door; "Begone!" he thundered.
For an instant Capriani hesitated, baleful threatening flashing in his eyes. "I am going," he said, "but you shall hear from me!" and the door closed behind him.
Quivering with rage, Oswald turned about. "My God! Fritz ....!" he exclaimed in terror. Fritz had risen from his chair, and after advancing a step, had fallen drenched in blood beside his couch!
CHAPTER IX.
The hemorrhage had at last been arrested, the doctor sent for, and the sick man put to bed. Oswald was sitting beside him, awaiting the arrival of the physician. From time to time he whispered a comforting word to the invalid or gave him a bit of ice. Some one gently lifted the latch of the door. "Ossi!" Georges called softly.
"Well?"