The
three newcomers had no need to make the slightest explanation. Hardly had
they alighted from the carriage, when the maid conducted them through the
hall, where at that moment two huntsmen were breakfasting, their guns
between their knees, and who, like true Romans, scarcely deigned to
glance at the strangers, who passed from the common hall into a small
court, from that court, through a shed, into a large field enclosed by
boards, with here and there a few pine-trees.

That rather odd duelling-ground had formerly served Cibo as a paddock. He
had essayed to increase his slender income by buying at a bargain some
jaded horses, which he intended fattening by means of rest and good
fodder, and then selling to cabmen, averaging a small profit. The
speculation having miscarried, the place was neglected and unused, save
under circumstances similar to those of this particular morning.

"We have arrived last," said Montfanon, looking at his watch; "we are,
however, five minutes ahead of time. Remember," he added in a low voice,
turning to Florent, "to keep the body well in the background," these
words being followed by other directions.

"Thanks," replied Florent, who looked at the Marquis and Dorsenne with a
glance which he ordinarily had only for Lincoln, "and you know that,
whatever may come, I thank you for all from the depths of my heart."

The young man put so much grace in that adieu, his courage was so simple,
his sacrifice for his brother-in-law so magnanimous and natural--in fact,
for two days both seconds had so fully appreciated the charm of that
disposition, absolutely free from thoughts of self--that they pressed his
hand with the emotion of true friends. They were themselves, moreover,
interested, and at once began the series of preparations without which
the role of assistant would be physically insupportable to persons
endowed with a little sensibility. In experienced hands like those of
Montfanon, Cibo and Pietrapertosa, such preliminaries are speedily
arranged. The code is as exact as the step of a ballet. Twenty minutes
after the entrance of the last arrivals, the two adversaries were face to
face. The signal was given. The two shots were fired simultaneously, and
Florent sank upon the grass which covered the enclosure. He had a bullet
in his thigh.

Dorsenne has often related since, as a singular trait of literary mania,
that at the moment the wounded man fell he, himself, notwithstanding the
anxie