For, leaning upon the sill, surveying us with a sardonic, evil grin, we
beheld Eug?ne de Canaples, the man whom I had left with a sword-thrust
through his middle behind the H?tel Vend?me two months ago. Whence was he
sprung, and why came he thus to his father's house?
He started as I faced him, for doubtless St. Auban had boasted to him that
he had killed me in a duel. For a moment he remained at the window, then
he disappeared, and we could hear the ring of his spurred heel as he walked
along the balcony towards the door.
And simultaneously came the quick, hurrying steps of the Chevalier de
Canaples, as he crossed the hall, returning with the letter he had gone to
fetch.
Genevi?ve shuddered again, and looked fearfully from one door to the other;
Andrea drew a sharp breath like a man in pain, whilst I rapped out an oath
to brace my nerves for the scene which we all three foresaw. Then in
silence we waited, some subtle instinct warning us of the disaster that
impended.
The steps on the balcony halted, and a second later those in the hall; and
then, as though the thing had been rehearsed and timed so that the
spectators might derive the utmost effect from it, the doors opened
together, and on the opposing thresholds, with the width of the room
betwixt them, stood father and son confronted.
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