Hillars looked after the
vehicle till it was obscured from view. Then he shook himself out of
the dream into which he had fallen. He was pale now, and his eyebrows
were drawn together as the Count held out the pistol.
"Ah, yes!" he said, as though he had forgotten. "There goes the woman
who will never become your wife."
"That shall be decided at once," was the retort of the Prince.
"She will marry the gentleman back at the inn."
"A fine husband he will make, truly!" replied the Prince. "He not only
deserts her but forsakes her champion. But, that is neither here nor
there. We shall not go through any polite formalities," his eyes
snapping viciously.
The two combatants took their places in the centre of the road. The
pistol arm of each hung at the side of the body.
"Are you ready, gentlemen?" asked the Count, the barest tremor in his
voice.
"Yes," said the Prince.
Hillars simply nodded.
"When I have counted three you will be at liberty to fire. One!"
The arms raised slowly till the pistols were on the level of the eyes.
"Two!"
The innkeeper saw Hillars move his lips.
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