M. de Villacourt fell to the ground, and the witnesses watched him lay down his pistol and press his thumbs with all his strength on the double hole which the bullet had made on entering his body. "Ah! I'm not done for--Ready, monsieur!" he called out in a loud voice to Henri, who, thinking all was over, was moving away. M. de Villacourt picked up his pistol and proceeded to do his four remaining paces as far as the walking-stick, dragging himself along on his hands and knees and leaving a track of blood on the snow behind him. On arriving at the stick he rested his elbow on the ground and took aim slowly and steadily. "Fire! Fire!" called out Dardouillet. Henri, standing still and covering his face with his pistol, was waiting. He was pale, and there was a proud, haughty look about him. The shot was fired; he staggered a second, then fell flat, with his face on the ground and with outstretched arms, his twitching fingers grasping for a moment at the snow. XXXIX M. Mauperin had gone out into the garden as he usually did on coming downstairs in the morning, when, to his surprise, he saw Denoisel advancing to meet him. "You here, at this hour?" he said. "Why, where did you sleep?" "M. Mauperin," said Denoisel, pressing his hand as he spoke. "What is it? What's the matter?" asked M. Mauperin, feeling that something had happened. "Henri is wounded." "Dangerously? Is it a duel?" Denoisel nodded. "Wounded? Ah, he is dead!" Denoisel took M. Mauperin's two hands in his for a second, without uttering a word. "Dead!" repeated M. Mauperin mechanically, and he opened his hands as though something had slipped from their grasp. "His poor mother, Henri!" and the tears came with the words. "Oh, God--We don't know how much we love them till this comes--and only thirty years old!" He sank down on a garden-seat, choked with sobs. "Where is he?" he asked at last. "There," and Denoisel pointed to the window of Henri's room. From Ville-d'Avray he had taken the corpse straight to M. Dardouillet's, and during the evening had found a pretext for sending for M. Bernard, who had a key of the Mauperins' house. In the middle of the night, while the family were asleep, the three men had taken off their shoes, carried Henri's dead body upstairs, and laid it on the bed in his own room. "Thank you," said M. Mauperin, and making a sign to him that he could not talk he got up. They walked round the garden four or five times in silence. The tears came every now and then into M. Mauperin's eyes, but they did not fall. Words, too, seemed to come to his lips and die away again. Finally, in a deep, crushed voice, breaking the long silence by a desperate effort, and not looking at Denoisel, M. Mauperin asked an abrupt question. "Was it an honourable death?" "He was your son," answered Denoisel.