The St. Johns herald., 1890-09-18
THE FRENCH METHOD.

A Thrilling DueIing Scene from Daudet's
 Novel, LTmmOrteL-
 . .'Pass on ahead" said an arrogant, nasal voice, the voice of the P. ince d'Athis.
 "He is right" said Paul Astier; ''they are going to prepare way for us"
 The wheels touched on the narrow road, the witnesses bowed, the physi- cians exchanged fraternal smile Then, as the coupe passed, there ecu be seen behind the clear glass, raise in spite of the heat, a morose, immo able profile, the Prince d 'Athis, pale corpse.
 Hell be paler yetln an hour, whe they bring him back with his bod pierced" thought Paul, and he clearly imagined his play, feint the second, then straight down between the third and fourth ribs:
 Did the Prince d Athis, whom the doctor was assisting to roll up his sleeves, hear these words? Was it the sight of that supple, 1.-the and vigor- ous fellow who advanced, his round arms and neck uncovered, a pitiless determination in his eye? The fact is hat the whole face of the Prince d'Athis suddenly changed, took an earthly hue, and showed under his beard, which dropped as if his jaw were unlocked, the hideous grimace of fear. Nevertheless he stood up and came valiantly enough to time. i Ready, gentlemen!'
 Yes, we suffer for our sins. The Prince d'Athis had the innate convic- tion of this before that implacable point which sought him, met his at @ distance and seemed to ease him here and there only to strike him more surely. Paul Astier was trying to kill him, that was evident. He felt the pressing danger envelop him, the at mosphere about him seemed upset by the light of a dream, the great sky seemed to fly from him; he saw the frightened silhouettes of the witnesses, the doctors, even to the wild gestures of the two stable boys frightening with their caps some bounding horses who wanted to draw near and look on. Suddenly violent, brutal voices:
 s "Enough!-Enough!-StOp!'
 2 What has happened? The danger is past, the sky has stopped moving, things wear their natural colors and stand in their right places. But at his feet upon the furrowed and upturned soil there extends @ large pool of blood, which blackens the yellow earth, and within in lies Paul Astier, bleeding like 8 pig, his naked neck pierced from side to side. In the frightened silence of the catastrophe the shrill noise of insects sounds from the distant meadows, and grouped at little distance the horses elOngate their noses in curiosity toward the still body of the vanquished.
 And yet the defeated man knew good deal about the sword. His fin gers, solidly set against the guard, made splendid play with the shining blade; while the other one, standing before him, twirled like a frightened turnspit.
 How did it happen? They will say. and the evening papers will repeat it after them, and tomorrow all Paris will repeat it after the papers, that Paul Astier slipped in making feint and impaled himself; they will tell it with the most exact details. But, in the events of life, is not the precision of our words in inverse ratio to the exactness of our knowledge For both spectators and combatants something vailed and confused always surrounds the decisive minute-that minute when destiny came in and struck a fual blow contrary to all expectation and all logic-destiny hidden in that same dark cloud that always enveloped the denouement of Homeric combaUs.