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“Georges!” he said, “he is dead. There, there! How stupid you look! My man is packing. I have half an hour before the train; my evidence shall come from Italy. I have done my part, the rest is for you. Why did you have that dinner? The Don Quixote! The idiot! The poor man! Don’t move! Have you a cigar? Listen! When you followed him, I followed the other two. My infernal curiosity! Can you conceive a greater folly? How fast they walked, those two! feeling their cheeks, as if he had struck them both, you know; it was funny. They soon saw me, for their eyes were all round about their heads; they had the mark of a glove on their cheeks.” The colour began to come back, into Jules’s face; he gesticulated with his cigar and became more and more dramatic. “They waited for me. ‘Tiens!’ said one, ‘this gentleman was with him. My friend’s name is M. Le Baron de—. The man who struck him was an odd-looking person; kindly inform me whether it is possible for my friend to meet him?’ Eh!” commented Jules, “he was offensive! Was it for me to give our dignity away? ‘Perfectly, monsieur!’ I answered. ‘In that case,’ he said, ‘please give me his name and ad dress…. I could not remember his name, and as for the address, I never knew it…! I reflected. ‘That,’ I said, ‘I am unable to do, for special reasons.’ ‘Aha!’ he said, ‘reasons that will prevent our fighting him, I suppose? ‘On the contrary,’ I said. ‘I will convey your request to him; I may mention that I have heard he is the best swordsman and pistol-shot in Europe. Good-night!’ I wished to give them something to dream of, you understand…. Patience, my dear! Patience! I was, coming to you, but I thought I would let them sleep on it–there was plenty of time! But yesterday morning I came into the Place, and there he was on the bench, with a big dog. I declare to you he blushed like a young girl. ‘Sir,’ he said, ‘I was hoping to meet you; last evening I made a great disturbance. I took an unpardonable liberty’–and he put in my hand an envelope. My friend, what do you suppose it contained–a pair of gloves! Senor Don Punctilioso, hein? He was the devil, this friend of yours; he fascinated me with his gentle eyes and his white moustachettes, his humility, his flames–poor man…! I told him I had been asked to take him a challenge. ‘If anything comes of it,’ I said, ‘make use of me!’ ‘Is that so?’ he said. ‘I am most grateful for your kind offer. Let me see–it is so long since I fought a duel. The sooner it’s over the better. Could you arrange to-morrow morning? Weapons? Yes; let them choose.’ You see, my friend, there was no hanging back here; nous voila en train.”

Jules took out his watch. “I have sixteen minutes. It is lucky for you that you were away yesterday, or you would be in my shoes now. I fixed the place, right hand of the road to Roquebrune, just by the railway cutting, and the time–five-thirty of the morning. It was arranged that I should call for him. Disgusting hour; I have not been up so early since I fought Jacques Tirbaut in ’85. At five o’clock I found him ready and drinking tea with rum in it–singular man! he made me have some too, brrr! He was shaved, and dressed in that old frock-coat. His great dog jumped into the carriage, but he bade her get out, took her paws on his shoulders, and whispered in her ear some Italian words; a charm, hein! and back she went, the tail between the legs. We drove slowly, so as not to shake his arm. He was more gay than I. All the way he talked to me of you: how kind you were! how good you had been to him! ‘You do not speak of yourself!’ I said. ‘Have you no friends, nothing to say? Sometimes an accident will happen!’ ‘Oh!’ he answered, ‘there is no danger; but if by any chance–well, there is a letter in my pocket.’ ‘And if you should kill him?’ I said. ‘But I shall not,’ he answered slyly: ‘do you think I am going to fire at him? No, no; he is too young.’ ‘But,’ I said, ‘I–‘I am not going to stand that!’ ‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘I owe him a shot; but there is no danger–not the least danger.’ We had arrived; already they were there. Ah bah! You know the preliminaries, the politeness–this duelling, you know, it is absurd, after all. We placed them at twenty paces. It is not a bad place. There are pine-trees round, and rocks; at that hour it was cool and grey as a church. I handed him the pistol. How can I describe him to you, standing there, smoothing the barrel with his fingers! ‘What a beautiful thing a good pistol!’ he said. ‘Only a fool or a madman throws away his life,’ I said. ‘Certainly,’ he replied, ‘certainly; but there is no danger,’ and he regarded me, raising his moustachette.