ten minutes to eight
As he drew near Monaco a kind of hopelessness settled on him . He almost wished , since he could not stop it , that he might find the duel over . Now and again a dry sob burst from his overloaded bosom . It was ten minutes to eight when he came up the slope from the Condamine . His legs were leaden , but they drove on the machine . At last he came to the path which leads to the half glade , half rocky amphitheatre , in which the gentry of the principality , and of the rest of the world who chance to be visiting it , settle their affairs of honour , slipped off his machine , and ran down it as fast as his stiff legs would carry him . A few yards from the end of it he turned aside into the bushes , came to the edge of the glade , saw his father and Count Sigismond facing one another some forty yards away ; saw a white handkerchief raised in Lord Crosland 's hand , and in spite of himself , his pent-up emotion burst from him in one wild eldritch yell .