And still mournfully contemplating it, he murmured in a broken voice: "Alas, it is not death I dread, but mutilation." I heartened him once more, and with such success that he presently said, "Let the tragedy begin.

Stand at my back; do not desert me in this solemn hour, my friend." I gave him my promise.

I now assisted him to point his pistol toward the spot where I judged his adversary to be standing, and cautioned him to listen well and further guide himself by my fellow-second's whoop.
Then I propped myself against M.Gambetta's back, and raised a rousing "Whoop-ee!" This was answered from out the far distances of the fog, and I immediately shouted: "One--two--three--FIRE!" Two little sounds like SPIT! SPIT! broke upon my ear, and in the same instant I was crushed to the earth under a mountain of flesh.

Bruised as I was, I was still able to catch a faint accent from above, to this effect: "I die for...

for ...