"Oh, go on talking, do!" cried Guerchard, mopping his forehead.
"Absolutely pitiable," said the Duke, with a cold, disquieting certainty. "As the hand of that clock moves nearer and nearer midnight, you will grow more and more terrified." He paused, and then shouted violently, "Attention!"
Guerchard jumped; and then he swore.
"Your nerves are on edge," said the Duke, laughing.
"Joker!" snarled Guerchard.
"Oh, you're as brave as the next man. But who can stand the anguish of the unknown thing which is bound to happen? . . . I'm right. You feel it, you're sure of it. At the end of these few fixed minutes an inevitable, fated event must happen. Don't shrug your shoulders, man; you're green with fear."
The Duke was no longer a smiling, cynical dandy. There emanated from him an impression of vivid, terrible force. His voice had deepened. It thrilled with a consciousness of irresistible power; it was overwhelming, paralyzing. His eyes were terrible.
"My men are outside . . . I'm armed," stammered Guerchard.
"Child! Bear in mind . . . bear in mind
