You have killed his horse, and he, De Guiche, one of the best marksmen in France, has not touched even either your horse or yourself.

Well, Monsieur de Wardes, you have been very unlucky in bringing me here; all the blood in my body seems to have mounted to my head; and I verily believe that since so good an opportunity presents itself, I shall blow your brains out on the spot.

So, Monsieur de Wardes, recommend yourself to Heaven." "Monsieur Manicamp, you cannot think of such a thing!" "On the contrary, I am thinking of it very strongly." "Would you assassinate me ?" "Without the slightest remorse, at least for the present." "Are you a gentleman ?" "I have given a great many proofs of that." "Let me defend my life, then, at least." "Very likely; in order, I suppose, that you may do to me what you have done to poor De Guiche." And Manicamp slowly raised his pistol to the height of De Wardes's breast, and with arm stretched out, and a fixed, determined look on his face, took a careful aim.
De Wardes did not attempt a flight; he was completely terrified.

In the midst, however, of this horrible silence, which lasted about a second, but which seemed an age to De Wardes, a faint sigh was heard.
"Oh," exclaimed De Wardes, "he still lives! Help, De Guiche, I am about to be assassinated!" Manicamp fell back a step or two, and the two young men saw the comte raise himself slowly and painfully upon one hand.

Manicamp threw the pistol away a dozen paces, and ran to his friend, uttering a cry of delight.