That was all he cared for.
"We have no one to give us a signal," said Miraudin lightly, "But
there is a cloud on the moon. When it passes, shall we fire?"
The Marquis bowed assent.
For a moment the moon-rays were obscured,--and a faint sigh from the
wind stirred the long dry grass. A bat flew by, scurrying towards
the Catacombs of Alexander,--a shadow lay upon the land. The
combatants,--so singularly alike in form and feature,--stood rigidly
in position, their weapons raised,--their only witnesses a cabman
and a wanton, both creatures terrified out of their wits for
themselves and their own safety. Swiftly the cloud passed--and a
brilliant silver glory was poured out on hill and plain and broken
column,--and as it shone, the two shots were fired simultaneously--
the two bullets whizzed through the air. A light puff of smoke rose
in the moonbeams--it cleared--and Miraudin reeled backwards and fell
heavily to the ground. Fontenelle stood upright, but staggered a
little,--instinctively putting his hand to his breast. Jeanne
Richaud rushed to the side of her fallen lover.
"Victor! Victor!"
Miraudin struggled up to a half sitting position--the blood was
welling up thickly from a wound in his lungs.
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