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“Joseph,” said he, “take this letter to the post-office.”

“You have then seen your brother?” cried I.

“Yes,” replied Lucien.

It was a strange thing indeed, these two duels following one after the other,
and in both of which, one of the adversaries was beforehand doomed to die.

Meanwhile, Baron Giordano arrived.

It was eight o’clock. We started.

Lucien was so anxious to get there, and hurried the driver on so much, that
we arrived at the rendezvous ten minutes before the time. Our opponents came up
at nine o’clock precisely. They were all three on horseback, followed by a
servant, mounted also. Mons. de Château-Renaud held his hand in the breast of
his coat, and I thought at first that he carried his arm in a sling.

At twenty steps from us, the three gentlemen dismounted, leaving their horses
to the care of the servant.

Mons. de Château-Renaud staid behind, but remained looking over at Lucien;
notwithstanding the distance between us, I saw him grow pale. He turned back,
and amused himself with cutting down the small flowers in the grass with his
whip, which he carried in his left hand.

“Here we are, gentlemen,” said MM. de Châteaugrand and de Boissy, “but you
know our conditions, that is, that this duel shall be the last, and that
whatever may be the result, Mons. de Château-Renaud shall not incur any further
responsibility.”

“Agreed!” replied we.

Lucien bowed in sign of his approbation.

“You have weapons?” inquired the viscount.

“Yes; the same used the other day.”

“And they are unknown to Mons. de Franchi?”

“Much more so than to Mons. de Château-Renaud, who has used them once. Mons.
de Franchi has not even seen them.”

“Very well, gentlemen. Come, Château-Renaud.”

We immediately entered the woods without uttering a single word. Each one
felt a painful recollection of the recent scene, upon the theatre of which we
mere soon to appear, and where something not less terrible would probably occur.

We arrived at the bog.

Mons. de Château-Renaud, by a great effort of self-control, appeared calm.
But it was easy for those who had seen him at both rencontres, to distinguish
the difference in his feelings.

From time to time he cast a glance at Lucien, which expressed an uneasiness,
that looked very much like fear. Perhaps it was the great likeness of the two
brothers which occupied him, or did he see in Lucien the avenging shadow of
Louis?

At length, while the pistols were being loaded, I saw him take his hand out
of his breast; it was enveloped in a wet handkerchief, in order to subdue its
feverish motion.

Lucien was waiting, with his eyes calm and fixed, like one sure of vengeance.

Without being shown to his place, Lucien took his stand on the spot which his
brother had occupied, and of course forced M. de Château-Renaud to take again
the same place where he had stood before.

Lucien received his pistol with a joyful smile.

When Mons. de Château-Renaud took his, from being pale, he became livid. He
then passed his hand between his neck and his cravat, as if the latter had been
choking him.

It is impossible to imagine the feeling of involuntary terror with which I
regarded this young man: beautiful, rich, elegant, who but the previous morning
had seen long years of happiness before him, and who now, the sweat pouring from
his forehead and his heart filled with unutterable agony, felt himself fated to
die.

“Are you ready?” demanded the Viscount Châteaugrand.

“Yes,” replied Lucien.

Mons. de Château-Renaud merely made a sign in the affirmative.

As for myself, I turned away.

I heard the two claps of the hands given successively, and with the third,
the report of the two pistols.

I turned round again. Monsieur de Château-Renaud was lying prostrate up on
the ground, quite dead, without having uttered a sigh, or made a movement. I
went up to him, impelled by that invincible curiosity which urges us to follow a
catastrophe to the end. The bullet had entered the temple, at the very spot
predicted by Lucien the day before.

I ran up to him; he had remained calmand motionless. But upon seeing me
within his reach, he dropped his pistol and threw himself into my arms.

“Oh! my brother! my poor brother!” exclaimed he.

He broke out into sobs!

These were the first tears the young man had ever shed!