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.
At that very moment I heard a rush of feet, and a voice I knew--Sapt's--cry: "God! it's the duke--dead!" Then I knew that the King needed me no more, and throwing down my revolver, I sprang out on the bridge.