r him. As we drew aside--I own it--my tongue was like a cinder
in my mouth, and a horrid inner cold crept through me to the marrow of
my bones.

The signal was given, and the two shots were fired at the same time.

My first look was at Romayne. He took off his hat, and handed it to me
with a smile. His adversary's bullet had cut a piece out of the brim of
his hat, on the right side. He had literally escaped by a hair-breadth.

While I was congratulating him, the fog gathered again more thickly than
ever. Looking anxiously toward the ground occupied by our adversaries,
we could only see vague, shadowy forms hurriedly crossing and recrossing
each other in the mist. Something had happened! My French colleague took
my arm and pressed it significantly. "Leave _me_ to inquire," he said.
Romayne tried to follow; I held him back--we neither of us exchanged a
word.

The fog thickened and thickened, until nothing was to be seen. Once we
heard the surgeon's voice, calling impatiently for a light to help him.
No light appeared that _we_ could see. Dreary as the fog itself, the
silence gathered round us again. On a sudden it was broken, horribly
broken, by another voice, strange to both of us, shrieking hysterically
through the impenetrable mist. "Where is he?" the voice cried, in the
French language. "Assassin! Assassin! where are you?" Was it a woman?
or was it a boy? We heard nothing more. The effect upon Romayne was
terrible to see. He who had calmly confronted the weapon lifted to kill
him, shuddered dumbly like a terror-stricken animal. I put my arm round
him, and hurried him away from the place.

We waited at the hotel until our French friend joined us. After a brief
interval he appeared, announcing that the surgeon would follow him.

The duel had ended fatally. The chance course of the bullet, urged by
Romayne's unpracticed hand, had struck the General's son just above
the right nostril--had penetrated to the back of his neck--and had
communicated a fatal shock to the spinal marrow. He was a dead man
before they could take him back to his father's house.

So far, our fears were confirmed. But there was something else to tell,
for which our worst presentiments had not prepared us.

A younger brother of the fallen man (a boy of thirteen years old) had
secretly followed the dueling party, on their way from his father's
house--had hidden himself--and had seen the dreadful end. The seconds
only knew of it when he burst ou