d; for I recognize in you, sir, a brave man."

"I cannot accord that homage to his honor and delicacy until your
general has devoted the influence which his genius gives him over France
as Monk did--that is to say, to reinstate his legitimate sovereign upon
the throne."

"Ah!" cried Roland, with a smile, "that is asking too much of a
republican general."

"Then I maintain what I said," replied the young noble. "Fire! monsieur,
fire!" Then as Roland made no haste to obey this injunction, he shouted,
stamping his foot: "Heavens and earth! will you fire?"

At these words Roland made a movement as if he intended to fire in the
air.

"Ah!" exclaimed M. de Barjols. Then with a rapidity of gesture and
speech that prevented this, "Do not fire in the air, I beg, or I shall
insist that we begin again and that you fire first."

"On my honor!" cried Roland, turning as pale as if the blood had left
his body, "this is the first time I have done so much for any man. Go to
the devil! and if you don't want to live, then die!"

At the same time he lowered his arm and fired, without troubling to take
aim.

Alfred de Barjols put his hand to his breast, swayed back and forth,
turned around and fell face down upon the ground. Roland's bullet had
gone through his heart.

Sir John, seeing M. de Barjols fall, went straight to Roland and drew
him to the spot where he had thrown his hat and coat.

"That is the third," murmured Roland with a sigh; "but you are my
witness that this one would have it."

Then giving his smoking pistol to Sir John, he resumed his hat and coat.
During this time M. de Valensolle picked up the pistol which had escaped
from his friend's hand, and brought it, together with the box, to Sir
John.

"Well?" asked the Englishman, motioning toward Alfred de Barjols with
his eyes.

"He is dead," replied the second.

"Have I acted as a man of honor, sir?" asked Roland, wiping away the
sweat which suddenly inundated his brow at the announcement of his
opponent's death.

"Yes, monsieur," replied M. de Valensolle; "only, permit me to say this:
you possess the fatal hand."

Then bowing to Roland and his second with exquisite politeness, he
returned to his friend's body.

"And you, my lord," resumed Roland, "what do you say?"

"I say," replied Sir John, with a sort of forced admiration, "you
are one of those men who are made by the divine Shakespeare to say of
themselves:

"'Danger and