The Russian soldiers rushed at the young officer, who had fallen, and
would have killed him, but, waving them off, he said he must speak with
their General before he died.

The Prince, astonished at the request at such a moment, consented.

"What is it you have to say, and why did you not attempt to shoot me?"

"I could not."

"But what prevented you?"

"Duty."

"I do not understand."

The young officer drew from his tunic a letter, a locket, and a small
box, and handed them to the General.

"What is the meaning of this?" exclaimed the Prince.

"Look inside the locket."

The Prince opened it and started. "My portrait and Madeline's!" Then,
opening the box: "And her engagement ring! Where did you get these
from?"

"The letter will explain all."

The Prince opened it, and, after glancing at it quickly, said: "And you
are----"

"Nicolas Gauthier."

"And your mother?"

"She is dead. Her love for you killed her."

"That is not true, for she married another."

"Never! She loved you to the last, and died with your name on her lips.
Read the letter to the end."

Mechanically the General read the letter, and then kissing the locket
passionately: "I knew, I felt that Madeline was true!" he said, and then
bending over Gauthier, he continued: "How did you recognise me, though?"

"I heard them call you by your name."

"That was why you would not fire?"

"Yes. A son could not kill his father, even though he be his enemy."

"But you allowed a father to kill his son?"

"I could not help it. It was fate."

"No, no, my son! You shall not die! You _must_ live!"

"God wills otherwise, father. Farewell! I have only seen you for a
minute, but I am satisfied."

Gauthier made a great effort to get up, smiled at the Prince, and then
fell back dead.

"My boy, my boy!" exclaimed the Prince, in desperation, stooping over
the dead body of his son. "Dead, dead, and killed by me, his father! And
this is the work of our Czar! Oh, cruel fate!"

[Illustration: "THE GENERAL REMAINED KNEELING BY THE SIDE OF HIS SON."]

The General remained some minutes kneeling by the side of his son in
mute despair, and then for the last time he sprang on to his horse and
rushed into the thickest of the fray.

"Prince! Prince! what are you doing there?" exclaimed a French officer
at his side.

"I am seeking death! I have killed my son, and I will not survive
him----"

He had scarcely finished when a ball struck him and he fell