M. Fauvel. "Your life is in my hands; the
law excuses the vengeance of an injured husband; but I refuse to take
advantage of it. I see on your mantel a revolver similar to mine; take
it, and defend yourself."

"Never!"

"Defend yourself!" cried the banker raising his arm, "if you do not--"

Feeling the barrel of M. Fauvel's revolver touch his breast, Raoul in
self-defence seized his own pistol, and prepared to fire.

"Stand in that corner of the room, and I will stand in this," continued
the banker; "and when the clock strikes, which will be in a few seconds,
we will both fire."

They took the places designated, and stood perfectly still.

But the horror of the scene was too much for Mme. Fauvel to witness any
longer without interposing. She understood but one thing: her son and
her husband were about to kill each other before her very eyes. Fright
and horror gave her strength to start up and rush between the two men.

"For God's sake, have mercy, Andre!" she cried, wringing her hands with
anguish, "let me tell you everything; don't kill--"

This burst of maternal love, M. Fauvel thought the pleadings of a
criminal woman defending her lover.

He roughly seized his wife by the arm, and thrust her aside, saying with
indignant scorn:

"Get out of the way!"

But she would not be repulsed; rushing up to Raoul, she threw her arms
around him, and said to her husband:

"Kill me, and me alone; for I am the guilty one."

At these words M. Fauvel glared at the guilty pair, and, deliberately
taking aim, fired.

Neither Raoul nor Mme. Fauvel moved. The banker fired a second time;
then a third.

He cocked the pistol for a fourth shot, when a man rushed into the room,
snatched the pistol from the banker's hand, and, throwing him on the
sofa, ran toward Mme. Fauvel.

This man was M. Verduret, who had been warned by Cavaillon, but did not
know that Mme. Gypsy had extracted the balls from M. Fauvel's revolver.

"Thank Heaven!" he cried, "she is unhurt."

"How dare you interfere?" cried the banker, who by this time had
joined the group. "I have the right to avenge my honor when it has been
degraded; the villain shall die!"

M. Verduret seized the banker's wrists in a vice-like grasp, and
whispered in his ear:

"Thank God you are saved from committing a terrible crime; the anonymous
letter deceived you."

In violent situations like this, all the untoward, strange attending
circumstances appear perfectly natural