He promised readily, and when I joined the marquis he followed, carrying my case of pistols.

"He can be trusted, I suppose?" asked D'Avencourt, glancing keenly at him while shaking hands cordially with me.

"To the death!" I replied, laughingly. "He will break his heart if he is not allowed to bind up my wounds!"

"I see you are in good spirits, conte," remarked Captain Freccia, as we took our seats in the carriage. "It is always the way with the man who is in the right. Ferrari, I fear, is not quite so comfortable."

And he proffered me a cigar, which I accepted. Just as we were about to start, the fat landlord of the hotel rushed toward us, and laying hold of the carriage door--"Eccellenza," he observed in a confidential whisper, "of course this is only a matter of coffee and glorias? They will be ready for you all on your return. I know--I understand!" And he smiled and nodded a great many times, and laid his finger knowingly on the side of his nose. We laughed heartily, a.s.suring him that his perspicuity was wonderful, and he stood on the broad steps in high good humor, watching us as our vehicle rumbled heavily away.

"Evidently," I remarked, "he does not consider a duel as a serious affair."

"Not he!" replied Freccia. "He has known of too many sham fights to be able to understand a real one. D'Avencourt knows something about that too, though he always kills his man. But very often it is sufficient to scratch one another with the sword-point so as to draw a quarter of a drop of blood, and honor is satisfied! Then the coffee and glorias are brought, as suggested by our friend the landlord."

"It is a ridiculous age," said the marquis, taking his cigar from his mouth, and complacently surveying his small, supple white hand, "thoroughly ridiculous, but I determined it should never make a fool of ME. You see, my dear conte, nowadays a duel is very frequently decided with swords rather than pistols, and why? Because cowards fancy it is much more difficult to kill with the sword. But not at all. Long ago I made up my mind that no man should continue to live who dared to insult me. I therefore studied swordplay as an art. And I a.s.sure you it is a simple matter to kill with the sword--remarkably simple. My opponents are astonished at the ease with which I dispatch them!"

Freccia laughed. "De Hamal is a pupil of yours, marquis, is he not?"

"I regret to say yes! He is marvelously clumsy. I have often earnestly requested him to eat his sword rather than handle it so boorishly. Yet he kills his men, too, but in a butcher-like manner--totally without grace or refinement. I should say he was about on a par with our two a.s.sociates, Ferrari's seconds."

I roused myself from a reverie into which I had fallen.

"What men are they?" I inquired.

"One calls himself the Capitano Ciabatti, the other Cavaliere Dursi, at your service," answered Freccia, indifferently. "Good swearers both and hard drinkers--filled with stock phrases, such as 'our distinguished dear friend, Ferrari, 'wrongs which can only be wiped out by blood'--all bombast and braggadocio! These fellows would as soon be on one side as the other."

He resumed his smoking, and we all three lapsed into silence. The drive seemed very long, though in reality the distance was not great. At last we pa.s.sed the Casa Ghirlande, a superb chateau belonging to a distinguished n.o.bleman who in former days had been a friendly neighbor to me, and then our vehicle jolted down a gentle declivity which sloped into a small valley, where there was a good-sized piece of smooth flat greensward. From this spot could be faintly discerned the castellated turrets of my own house, the Villa Romani. Here we came to a standstill. Vincenzo jumped briskly down from his seat beside the coachman, and a.s.sisted us to alight. The carriage then drove off to a retired corner behind some trees. We surveyed the ground, and saw that as yet only one person beside ourselves had arrived. This was the surgeon, a dapper good-humored little German who spoke bad French and worse Italian, and who shook hands cordially with us all. On learning who I was he bowed low and smiled very amiably. "The best wish I can offer to you, signor," he said, "is that you may have no occasion for my services. You have reposed yourself? That is well--sleep steadies the nerves. Ach! you shiver! True it is, the morning is cold."

I did indeed experience a pa.s.sing shudder, but not because the air was chilly. It was because I felt certain--so terribly certain, of killing the man I had once loved well. Almost I wished I could also feel that there was the slightest possibility of his killing me; but no!--all my instincts told me there was no chance of this. I had a sort of sick pain at my heart, and as I thought of HER, the jewel-eyed snake who had wrought all the evil, my wrath against her increased tenfold. I wondered scornfully what she was doing away in the quiet convent where the sacred Host, unveiled, glittered on the altar like a star of the morning. No doubt she slept; it was yet too early for her to practice her sham sanct.i.ty. She slept, in all probability most peacefully, while her husband and her lover called upon death to come and decide between them. The slow clear strokes of a bell chiming from the city tolled six, and as its last echo trembled mournfully on the wind there was a slight stir among my companions. I looked and saw Ferrari approaching with his two a.s.sociates. He walked slowly, and was m.u.f.fled in a thick cloak; his hat was pulled over his brows, and I could not see the expression of his face, as he did not turn his head once in my direction, but stood apart leaning against the trunk of a leafless tree. The seconds on both sides now commenced measuring the ground.

"We are agreed as to the distance, gentlemen," said the marquis.

"Twenty paces, I think?"

"Twenty paces," stiffly returned one of Ferrari's friends--a battered-looking middle-aged roue with ferocious mustachios, whom I presumed was Captain Ciabatti.

They went on measuring carefully and in silence. During the pause I turned my back on the whole party, slipped off my spectacles and put them in my pocket. Then I lowered the brim of my hat slightly so that the change might not be observed too suddenly--and resuming my first position, I waited. It was daylight though not full morning--the sun had not yet risen, but there was an opaline l.u.s.ter in the sky, and one pale pink streak in the east like the floating pennon from the lance of a hero, which heralded his approach. There was a gentle twittering of awakening birds--the gra.s.s sparkled with a million tiny drops of frosty dew. A curious calmness possessed me. I felt for the time as though I were a mechanical automaton moved by some other will than my own. I had no pa.s.sion left.

The weapons were now loaded--and the marquis, looking about him with a cheerful business-like air, remarked:

"I think we may now place our men?"

This suggestion agreed to, Ferrari left his place near the tree against which he had in part inclined as though fatigued, and advanced to the spot his seconds pointed out to him. He threw off his hat and overcoat, thereby showing that he was still in his evening-dress. His face was haggard and of a sickly paleness--his eyes had dark rings of pain round them, and were full of a keen and bitter anguish. He eagerly grasped the pistol they handed to him, and examined it closely with vengeful interest. I meanwhile also threw off my hat and coat--the marquis glanced at me with careless approval.

"You look a much younger man without your spectacles, conte," he remarked as he handed me my weapon. I smiled indifferently, and took up my position at the distance indicated, exactly opposite Ferrari. He was still occupied in the examination of his pistol, and did not at once look up.

"Are we ready, gentlemen?" demanded Freccia, with courteous coldness.

"Quite ready," was the response. The Marquis D'Avencourt took out his handkerchief. Then Ferrari raised his head and faced me fully for the first time. Great Heaven! shall I ever forget the awful change that came over his pallid countenance--the confused mad look of his eyes--the startled horror of his expression! His lips moved as though he were about to utter an exclamation--he staggered.

"One!" cried D'Avencourt.

We raised our weapons.

"Two!"

The scared and bewildered expression of Ferrari's face deepened visibly as he eyed me steadily in taking aim. I smiled proudly--I gave him back glance for glance--I saw him waver--his hand shook.

"Three!" and the white handkerchief fluttered to the ground. Instantly, and together, we fired. Ferrari's bullet whizzed past me, merely tearing my coat and grazing my shoulder. The smoke cleared--Ferrari still stood erect, opposite to me, staring straight forward with the same frantic faroff look--the pistol had dropped from his hand.

Suddenly he threw up his arms--shuddered--and with a smothered groan fell, face forward, p.r.o.ne on the sward. The surgeon hurried to his side and turned him so that he lay on his back. He was unconscious--though his dark eyes were wide open, and turned blindly upward to the sky. The front of his shirt was already soaked with blood. We all gathered round him.

"A good shot?" inquired the marquis, with the indifference of a practiced duelist.

"Ach! a good shot indeed!" replied the little German doctor, shaking his head as he rose from his examination of the wound. "Excellent! He will be dead in ten minutes. The bullet has pa.s.sed through the lungs close to the heart. Honor is satisfied certainly!"

At that moment a deep anguished sigh parted the lips of the dying man.

Sense and speculation returned to those glaring eyes so awfully upturned. He looked upon us all doubtfully one after the other--till finally his gaze rested upon me. Then he grew strangely excited--his lips moved--he eagerly tried to speak. The doctor, watchful of his movements, poured brandy between his teeth. The cordial gave him momentary strength--he raised himself by a supreme effort.

"Let me speak," he gasped faintly, "to HIM!" And he pointed to me--then he continued to mutter like a man in a dream--"to him--alone--alone!--to him alone!"

The others, slightly awed by his manner, drew aside out of ear-shot, and I advanced and knelt beside him, stooping my face between his and the morning sky. His wild eyes met mine with a piteous beseeching terror.

"In G.o.d's name," he whispered, thickly, "WHO ARE YOU?"

"You know me, Guido!" I answered, steadily. "I am Fabio Romani, whom you once called friend! I am he whose wife you stole!--whose name you slandered!--whose honor you despised! Ah! look at me well! your own heart tells you who I am!"

He uttered a low moan and raised his hand with a feeble gesture.

"Fabio? Fabio?" he gasped. "He died--I saw him in his coffin--"

I leaned more closely over him. "I was BURIED ALIVE," I said with thrilling distinctness. "Understand me, Guido--buried alive! I escaped--no matter how. I came home--to learn your treachery and my own dishonor! Shall I tell you more?"

A terrible shudder shook his frame--his head moved restlessly to and fro, the sweat stood in large drops upon his forehead. With my own handkerchief I wiped his lips and brow tenderly--my nerves were strung up to an almost brittle tension--I smiled as a woman smiles when on the verge of hysterical weeping.

"You know the avenue," I said, "the dear old avenue, where the nightingales sing? I saw you there, Guido--with HER!--on the very night of my return from death--SHE was in your arms--you kissed her--you spoke of me--you toyed with the necklace on her white breast!"

He writhed under my gaze with a strong convulsive movement.

"Tell me--quick!" he gasped. "Does--SHE--know you?"

"Not yet!" I answered, slowly. "But soon she will--when I have married her!"

A look of bitter anguish filled his straining eyes. "Oh, G.o.d, G.o.d!" he exclaimed with a groan like that of a wild beast in pain. "This is horrible, too horrible! Spare me--spare--" A rush of blood choked his utterance. His breathing grew fainter and fainter; the livid hue of approaching dissolution spread itself gradually over his countenance.

Staring wildly at me, he groped with his hands as though he searched for some lost thing. I took one of those feebly wandering hands within my own, and held it closely clasped.

"You know the rest," I said gently; "you understand my vengeance! But it is all over, Guido--all over, now! She has played us both false. May G.o.d forgive you as I do!"

He smiled--a soft look brightened his fast-glazing eyes--the old boyish look that had won my love in former days.

"All over!" he repeated in a sort of plaintive babble. "All over now!

G.o.d--Fabio--forgive!--" A terrible convulsion wrenched and contorted his limbs and features, his throat rattled, and stretching himself out with a long shivering sigh--he died! The first beams of the rising sun, piercing through the dark, moss-covered branches of the pine-trees, fell on his cl.u.s.tering hair, and lent a mocking brilliancy to his wide-open sightless eyes: there was a smile on the closed lips! A burning, suffocating sensation rose in my throat, as of rebellious tears trying to force a pa.s.sage. I still held the hand of my friend and enemy--it had grown cold in my clasp. Upon it sparkled my family diamond--the ring SHE had given him. I drew the jewel off: then I kissed that poor pa.s.sive hand as I laid it gently down--kissed it tenderly, reverently. Hearing footsteps approaching, I rose from my kneeling posture and stood erect with folded arms, looking tearlessly down on the stiffening clay before me. The rest of the party came up; no one spoke for a minute, all surveyed the dead body in silence. At last Captain Freccia said, softly in half-inquiring accents: