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“But howl”

“Just as he did while living, and dressed in the coat he usually wore; only,
he was very pale and his eyes were without life.”

“Oh God!”

“He then slowly approached my bed. I raised myself upon my elbow.

“You are welcome, father,” said I.

“He came nearer, looked fixedly at me, and it seemed to me that his lifeless
eye animated itself by the force of paternal affection.”

“Continue—this is terrible!”

“Then his lips moved, and strange to say, although his words did not produce
any sound, I felt them resounding all through me, distinct and vibrating like an
echo.”

“And what did he say to you?”

“Think of God! my son.”

“I am then going to be killed in this duel? asked I.”

“I saw two tears from those lifeless eyes, roll down the pale face of the
spectre.

“And at what hour? continued I.

“He pointed with his finger to the pendule. I followed the direction he
indicated. The clock showed ten minutes past nine.

“Very well! my father, replied I, then God’s will be done! It is true I must
leave my mother, but I come to rejoin you.

“A feeble smile passed over his pale lips, and making me a farewell sign, he
left me. The door opened of itself before him, he disappeared, and the door
closed.”

This recital was made in such a simple and natural manner, that it was
evident to me the scene he had described must actually have taken place, or
that, in the pre-occupation of his mind, he had been the sport of an illusion,
which, having been taken for a reality, was equally as terrible in its
consequences.

I wiped off the sweat, which was running down from my forehead.

“Now,” continued Louis, “you know my brother, do you not?”

“Yes.”

“What do you think he would do if he should learn that I have been killed in
a duel?”

“He will that very instant leave Sullacaro, to come here and fight with him
who has caused your death.”

“Exactly! and if he is killed in his turn; my mother will be three times
widow. A widow for her husband—a widow for her two sons.”

“Oh! I understand—that is horrible!”

“Well! it must be avoided! for that purpose I hare written this letter to my
mother. Believing that I have died in a brain fever, my brother will not seek
revenge upon any body, and my mother will be more easily consoled if she thinks
I have been stricken by the will of God, than if she knew I had been destroyed
by the hand of man. Unless—”

“Unless?” repeated I.

“Oh, no!” said Louis, “I hope that that will not be the case.”

I saw that he answered his own fears, and did not insist any further.

At this moment, the door opened.

“My dear de Franchi,” said Baron de Giordano, “I have respected your orders
as long as it was possible; but it is eight o’clock, the rendezvous is at nine,
and we have a league and a half to travel. We must start.”

“I am ready, my dear friend,” said Louis. “Come in. I have told this
gentleman all I had to say to him.” He put his finger on his lips and looked at
me. “This is for you, my friend,” continued he, returning to the table, and
taking a sealed letter from it; “here are your instructions. If I should be
unfortunate, read this, and pray do what I have requested of you.”

“To the very letter! You have taken upon yourself to furnish the weapons?”
asked the Baron Giordano, “are they in the carriage?”

“Yes,” replied I, “but just when I was ready to leave home, I noticed that
one of the hammers did not work well. We will take a box of pistols at
Devisme’s, as we pass there.”

Louis looked at me with a smile, and offered me his hand. He seemed to
understand that I did not wish him to be killed with one of my pistols.

“Have you a carriage,” said Louis, “or shall Joseph go out and get one?”

“I have my coupé,” said the Baron, “and if we press a little, we can all
three sit very well; besides, as we are rather behind our time, we will be able
to go quicker with my horses than with hacks.”