The adversaries were placed opposite, sword in hand. The Duke de
Castel-Montjoie touched the points of their swords and said, "Go!"
The conditions of the duel were very strict. The first round should last three minutes, should neither of the adversaries be touched.
"Halt!" cried the Duke de Castel-Montjoie.
One minute was allowed them to breathe.
"Go," said the umpire, again joining the sword tips.
This time Albert made a furious drive against the Duke. There was a moment of suspense. The Duke did not give way. His arm shot out and the unfortunate Count turned completely round and fell. Charles de Morlay's sword had pierced beneath the right arm pit, entering the lung. The blood streamed from the wounded man's mouth. The Doctor and the seconds carried him into the room which Jeanette had prepared. The Duke, sorely moved, followed them. Albert saw him and held out a hand which the Duke pressed gently, bending his head. The Count signed to the seconds to withdraw.
"I was wrong, Duke," he murmured. "My love had blinded my wisdom with the heavy mask of egoism. On the threshold of eternity the truth seems clearer. Forgive me, De Morlay, as I forgive you."
He choked. The Doctor came forward. The Duke, as pale as the dying man, pressed that loyal hand for the last time, and withdrew.
In her own room Esperance had just waked with an anguished cry.
"What is the matter with you?"