His
hat was off--and his countenance, marked as it was with the crimson
line of the lash, lightened with laughter.
"Again! Monsieur le Marquis, je vous salue!" he said, "Kismet! One
cannot escape it! Better to fight with you, beau sire, than with
destiny! I am ready!"
Fontenelle at once dismounted, and tied his horse to the knotted
bough of a half-withered tree. Taking his pistols out of their
holder he proffered them to Miraudin.
"Choose!" he said curtly, "Or use your own if you have any,--but
mine are loaded,--take care yours are! Play no theatrical tricks on
such a stage as this! "And then he gave a comprehensive wave of his
hand towards the desolate waste of the Campagna around them, and the
faint blue misty lines of the Alban hills just rimmed with silver in
the rays of the moon.
At the first sight of the pistols the driver of the fiacre, who had
been more or less stupefied till now, by the suddenness of the
adventure, gave a sort of whining cry, and climbing down from his
box fell on his knees before Miraudin, and then ran a few paces and
did the same thing in front of the Marquis, imploring both men not
to fight,--not to get killed, on account of the trouble it would
cause to him, the coachman;--and with a high falsetto shriek a lady
flung herself out of the recesses of the closed vehicle, and clung
to the actor's arm.
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