Major Zollenhoffar and Mr. Tredegar drew out from their respective groups, and met in the center of the ground. There, for the last time, they conferred upon the possibility of an amicable settlement of the difficulty. But the impracticability of reconciling the adversaries consisted in this—that each of the adversaries deemed _himself_ the injured, insulted, outraged party, who was entitled to an humble apology from the other, or in want of that the “satisfaction of a gentleman”—which usually means an ounce of lead in his body or fellow-creature’s blood upon his soul. Each was willing to receive an apology, instead of a bullet; but neither would hear of making the slightest concession. When the proposition was made to Alexander, he simply turned away his pallid face in cold and silent scorn. When it was made to Prince Ernest, the excitable Austrian jumped three feet from the ground and swore that he would have “one grawnd sat-ees-fac-shee-on.” The quarrel having proved irreconcilable, the last preparations were made for the duel. The ground was stepped off, and the foes were placed by their respective seconds at ten paces from each other—standing due north and south, with the advantage of the light equally divided between them; the insulted sun being just above the mountains due east, and shining down full upon the dueling ground. Major Zollenhoffar had the choice of the four pair of pistols provided. Francis Tredegar was to give the signals. Having placed and armed their principals, and taken position on opposite sides of the line of fire, and about midway between them, and all being ready, Francis Tredegar looked from one to the other. He saw that Alexander Lyon was pale as death, but still as marble, steady as a statue; and that Prince Ernest was fiery red, but in other respects appeared as calm as his adversary. But Francis Tredegar himself grew very pale as the fatal moment approached. His voice sounded hollow and unnatural, as he began: “Gentlemen, are you ready!” A dread pause and a silent assent, or an assent taken for granted. “ONE!” And at the signal the foes raised their pistols. “TWO!” They took deliberate aim. “THREE.” They kept them so. “FIRE!” They discharged their pistols and Alexander Lyon fell. The impulsive Austrian threw down his weapon and, regardless of etiquette, ran over to raise his fallen foe. Alexander was still alive when they raised him. There was a convulsive shuddering of the form—a nervous quivering of the face—a gasp—“Drusilla!” and all was still as death. Prince Ernest had his grand satisfaction. CHAPTER XXV. THE GRAND SATISFACTION. Naught’s had, all’s spent When our desires are gained without content—SHAKESPEARE. The grand satisfaction was received; but it did not prove so highly satisfactory after all. Grand satisfactions seldom do.