He heard nothing more, he saw nothing more, he took note of nothing more, he only knew that he raised his arm, pressing strongly on the trigger. And he heard nothing. But he saw all at once a little smoke at the end of his pistol barrel, and as the man in front of him still stood in the same position, he perceived, too, a little cloud of smoke drifting off over his head.
They had both fired. It was over.
His seconds and the doctor touched him, felt him and unbuttoned his clothes, asking, anxiously: “Are you hit?”
He replied at haphazard: “No, I do not think so.”
Langremont, too, was as unhurt as his enemy, and Jacques Rival murmured in a discontented tone: “It is always so with those damned pistols; you either miss or kill. What a filthy weapon.”
Duroy did not move, paralyzed by surprise and joy. It was over. They had to take away his weapon, which he still had clenched