he struggle was for the weapon.

Twice was it pointed at my heart; but my hand held the lock, and not
all his efforts could unclasp it. At last I freed my right hand from the
sword-knot of my sabre, and striking him with my clenched knuckles on
the forehead, threw him back. His grasp relaxed at the instant, and I
wrenched the pistol from his fingers, and placed the muzzle against his
chest.

Another second and he would have rolled a corpse before me, when, to my
horror and amazement, I saw in my antagonist my once friend, _Henri de
Beauvais_. I flung the weapon from me, as I cried out, "De Beauvais,
forgive me! forgive me!"

A deathly paleness came over his features; his eyes grew glazed and
filmy, and with a low groan he fell fainting on the floor. I bathed
his temples with water; I moistened his pale lips; I rubbed his clammy
fingers. But it was long before he rallied; and when he did come to
himself and looked up, he closed his eyes again, as though the sight of
me was worse than death itself.

"Come, Henri!" said I, "a cup of wine, my friend, and you will be better
presently. Thank God, this has not ended as it might."

He raised his eyes towards me, but with a look of proud and unforgiving
sternness, while he uttered not a word.

"It is unfair to blame me, De Beauvais, for this," said I. "Once more I
say, forgive me!"

His lips moved, and some sounds came forth, but I could not hear the
words.

"There, there," cried I; "it's past and over now. Here is my hand."

"You struck me with that hand," said he, in a deep, distinct voice, as
though every word came from the very bottom of his chest.

"And if I did, Henri, my own life was on the blow."

"Oh that you had taken mine with it!" said he, with a bitterness I can
never forget. "I am the first of my name that ever received a blow;
would I were to be the last!"

"You forget, De Beauvais--"

"No, sir; I forget nothing. Be assured, too, I never shall forget
this night. With any other than yourself I should not despair of that
atonement for an injury which alone can wash out such a stain; but
_you_,--I know you well,--_you_ will not give me this."

"You are right, De Beauvais; I will not," said I, calmly. "Sorry am I
that even an accident should have brought us into collision. It is a
mischance I feel deeply, and shall for many a day."

"And I, sir," cried he, as, starting up, his eyes flashed with passion
and his cheek grew scarlet,--"and I, sir!--what