"God of heaven!" roared the doctor at this, "is he going to shoot him like a dog, then?"
The words were still upon his lips when the count took another stride forward. I thought for a moment that the seconds would intervene. I believe to this day that they would have done, if Sir Nicolas had not cried out suddenly, "We can do nothing; he is within his right." Once this was said, the old silence fell upon us—upon all but the doctor, who turned his back upon the scene and burst out crying like a woman. And step by step, slowly, deliberately, with all the malice of a devil's heart, the murderer advanced to his work.
They were within two yards of each other at last; yet even then I could not bring myself to think that those about me would stand by and see such a cruel thing. "The count is just torturing the poor old man," I thought; "he will bring him to the centre and then fire up in the air." This opinion was shared by the others, I make sure. Either that, or they were paralyzed—fascinated like a dumb thing is by a tiger. Once they had cried out, not a man spoke. Silently, with faces flushed, their heads bent forward, they watched the meeting as the two came together at last, face to face, almost heart to heart.
"My God! it cannot be; he does not mean it. It's a play—he does not want his life."
I could not keep the words back as the two men met, and stood for one awful minute on the line together. The general's face was still a beautiful thing to see; the count continued to bend forward, holding his pistol at his side. Not a word was spoken on either side, not a gesture made; they stood there like two statues until, suddenly and horribly, the end came. Whether the count really meant to do as he did, whether it was a devilish impulse, I do not know to this day. Be that as it may, the two were standing as I have described them when, all at once, there was a shrill scream—a woman's scream—from the little thicket near by us. One short suppressed exclamation it was; yet enough to cause the general to turn quickly upon his heel; and in the same moment the count raised his pistol and fired. He had pressed the muzzle hard against the other's breast; he shot him like he would have shot a hound. With one awful ringing cry—a cry that sent the birds screaming from the trees, and echoed again and again in the woods—the old man fell his length upon the grass; and smoke and blood poured together from his gaping wound.
That he was stone dead, that he died as he fell, I did not want any doctor to tell me. As the thing went, I don't believe a man of the party moved for more than a minute after that dreadful deed. We were rooted to the ground, held stiff as much with shame as with sorrow. Even the count made no attempt to leave the clearing; he simply stood there with a sneer on his livid face and the smoking pistol swinging in his hand. If Sir Nicolas—who was the first to throw off the spell—had not pulled him away into the wood, he would have held his ground until one of the others had shot him where he stood; as I am sure they would have done if shame had not held their hands. But my master grasped the situation before they had moved from their places, and beckoning me to follow him, he entered the nearest thicket and disappeared from our view. When I found him two minutes later, he was returning to the clearing with a fainting woman in his arms. It was Marya Pouzatòv, who had witnessed the whole scene from the woods.
"For God's sake, look after the count!" said he; "they will cut him in pieces. Get him back to the village, and run all the way. Ye've not a minute to lose, if ye'd save more bloodshed."
With this he ran on, carrying the fainting girl to the doctor, who was still standing beside the dead body of the old soldier. You may imagine that I didn't lose much time in doing as he had told me; and I was out on the road with Count Fédor while you could add up ten. I found him dazed and muttering, and more like a lunatic than a man. "He laughed in my face," was all he could say—"he laughed in my face, and struck me, the dog!"
"That's all very well," said I; and I could have hit him willing, myself. "I hope you're pleased with yourself. If you want to save your dirty life now, keep your mouth shut and come along with me."
"They cannot touch me," said he fiercely, between his teeth. "I was within my right! There is nothing against my honor."
"Your honor be d——d!" said I, "and you, too, for that matter. Run, you pig of a Russian, run!"
They say we do queer things on the impulse; and I am certain that it was impulse alone which made Sir Nicolas lift a finger to save such a bad one as the count proved himself on that day. Possibly he had other plans at the moment; possibly he didn't see his way clear with two men dead on the field. And what he thought, I thought, too, in my own way. There had been trouble enough for one morning, and no good could follow a second dose of it. The dirty murderer I was running with was in one way our man. It lay upon me to stand by him—until he was clear of the ground, any way. And stand by him I did, never halting a minute the whole three miles back to the village and to the priest's house. When I left him at last, he was splashed from head to foot with mud, and his face was as white as the paper I am writing on.
"You'll not leave me!" cried he, as I left him. "By Heaven, I'll want all the friends I can get this time to-morrow. They'll tear me in pieces—they'll hunt me like a dog——"
"You should have thought of that before," said I.
"I never meant to shoot him, I swear it!" said he, staggering into the house. "It was the girl's voice that made me—the she-devil that has played with me for five years, and brought me to this at last. Oh, my God! I'm a doomed man."
He went in with this on his lips, and I turned back to meet Sir Nicolas. The bells of the horses in his carriage were already jangling in the village street; and, presently, I saw my master with his Marya, coming along at full gallop. He did not stop even when he caught sight of me, but drove on straight to the great house, where I followed him as fast as my legs would carry me. I found him doing his best to make things look well to Mme. Pouzatòv, and already taking almost a master's place in the house. But he came to me at once when I arrived; and the first name that passed his lips was the name of the count.
"’Tis a paltry murdering villain he is, and nothing else," said he, drawing me aside in the garden; "but we must stand by him, or there'll be bad talk."
"You don't mean to say that you'll keep him in the village there?" cried I.
He looked at me cunningly, and there was the old sly twinkle in his eyes.
"Not exactly that," said he; "not in the village, nor in the town—nor in Russia."
I began to see his drift, and I could have laughed myself. He knew well that dead men are forgiven quickly. But with the count hounded out of the country, the coast would be clear for him.
"You think, then, that he will go, sir?" I asked.
"He will go in half an hour," he answered quietly, "unless he has a fancy for the bullets of the general's men. They will tear him limb from limb, and not lose much time in the employment. You may look for some of them from Novgorod before the sun sets. And that brings me to the point of it. It is yourself that will see him through to Paris. I've ordered the carriage to be at the priest's house in ten minutes from this time. You will hide him in the bottom of it, and drive to Malo, which is a station on the great Moscow railway. Once you have him in the train, lie is safe. But any way, don't return here, for I'd keep what happens from Miss Marya's ears, at all costs."
"Then I'm to go back to our hotel, sir, whatever happens?"
"Whatever happens," said he; "though I have me doubts that ye'll get through with him."
He said no more beyond finding me money for the journey, and we parted without a handshake. I have always regretted that, for it was the last time I saw Sir Nicolas Steele. Twenty minutes after I had left him, I was in the chatevka with the count, and we were driving like madmen to Malo. There was no need for him to hide himself in the bottom of the carriage, as my master had wished, for the road was as lonely and as flat as a desert; and I do believe that we did not see a human being until the station came in sight. As for the count, he never spoke a word the whole way, but lay fuddled with drink and half-sleeping on the