Belleville threw his pistol to the ground, and drawing his gold
snuff-box from his vest-pocket with his small white hands, adorned
with cuffs of lace, he played carelessly upon the lid; then opened
it, and slowly and gracefully took a pinch of snuff, saying, coolly,
"I await your ball."
Marshal raised his pistol and aimed directly at the head of his
enemy, who looked him firmly in the eye. The appearance of this
youthful, fresh, and brave face softened, against his will, the
noble and magnanimous soul of this good man. He let his arm fall.
"Sir," said he, "you are so young, perhaps your life may improve. I
will not kill you. But you need for this life a great, impressive
lesson and a lasting warning. I will therefore shoot you through the
right leg, just above the knee." [Footnote: The words of Baron
Marshal.--See Thiebault.] He raised the pistol quickly, and fired.
As the smoke was lifted, Belleville was seen lying bleeding on the
ground. The shot had gone right through the knee and broken the
knee-pan.
As his second bowed over him, Belleville whispered, with broken eyes
and trembling lips: "My legacy! do not forget my legacy! I believe I
shall die; this pain is horrible.
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