It must be my men, come by a
happy disobedience to seek me. The noise continued, but none of the
rest seemed to heed it. Their attention was chained by what now happened
before their eyes. The group of servants parted and a woman staggered on
to the bridge. Antoinette de Mauban was in a loose white robe, her dark
hair streamed over her shoulders, her face was ghastly pale, and her
eyes gleamed wildly in the light of the torches. In her shaking hand she
held a revolver, and, as she tottered forward, she fired it at Rupert
Hentzau. The ball missed him, and struck the woodwork over my head.
"Faith, madame," laughed Rupert, "had your eyes been no more deadly
than your shooting, I had not been in this scrape--nor Black Michael in
hell--tonight!"
She took no notice of his words. With a wonderful effort, she
calmed herself till she stood still and rigid. Then very slowly and
deliberately she began to raise her arm again, taking most careful aim.
He would be mad to risk it. He must rush on her, chancing the bullet, or
retreat towards me. I covered him with my weapon.
He did neither. Before she had got her aim, he bowed in his most
graceful fashion, cried "I can't kill where I've kissed," and before
she or I could stop him, laid his hand on the parapet of the bridge, and
lightly leapt into the moat.
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