sessed rendered him less
nervous and more master of himself than was the older man, who had had
numberless affairs of the kind.

"Will you choose swords or will you fight in the English mode with
pistols?" said Calvert, with another low bow to St. Aulaire.

"Both, by God!" shouted St. Aulaire. "We will follow the lead of
Bazencourt and St. Luce!" But here Bertrand and another of his
companions interfered (the third and villainous-looking fellow said
nothing and seemed indifferent on the subject), and declared they could
not be party to murder, and that terrible affair had been no less. It
had been known and talked of all over Paris, the shameful conditions
being--that the combatants should fight first with swords, and the one
who fell, and fell wounded only, was to have his brains blown out by the
other.

One of the company brought from the house a lantern and a pair of
English pistols, and both agreeing to fight with them, and the ground
being hastily measured, the two gentlemen threw off their coats and took
up their positions. The light was so uncertain from the occasional
fitful brightness of the moon shining through the clouds and the light
from the swaying lantern, held aloft by Bertrand, who took his stand
near Calvert and watched him with his old devotion, that 'twas almost
impossible for either combatant to take accurate aim.

At the word "Fire!" both pistols cracked, and St. Aulaire, staggering
forward a few steps, fell, wounded in the groin. Calvert was untouched,
but before he could collect himself or move to the assistance of St.
Aulaire, he suddenly heard the sound of coach-wheels passing close to
the allee, and, at the same instant, to his astonishment, he felt a
sharp pain tear its way from his left shoulder to the wrist. He turned
his head an instant to see who had attacked him from this unexpected
quarter and was just in time to see the scoundrel who had been in St.
Aulaire's company throw down his stained sword and make for the
boulevard. And then as he reeled forward, the blood spurting from the
long gash in his arm, all grew black before him and he knew no more.

CHAPTER XIX

IN WHICH AN UNLOOKED-FOR EVENT TAKES PLACE

That great and desolating change which had swept over France in the two
years and more of Calvert's absence was reflected in every heart, in
every life left in that wrecked land. On the most insensible, the most
frivolous, the most indifferent alike fell the shadow of