bell, to
wake his valet, but stopped with hand raised toward the bell rope.

"He would see that I am afraid!"

And, instead of ringing, he made a fire himself. His hands quivered
nervously as they touched various objects. His head grew dizzy, his
thoughts confused, disjointed, painful; a numbness seized his spirit, as
if he had been drinking.

And all the time he kept on saying:

"What shall I do? What will become of me?"

His whole body trembled spasmodically; he rose, and, going to the
window, drew back the curtains.

The day--a summer day-was breaking. The pink sky cast a glow on the
city, its roofs, and its walls. A flush of light enveloped the awakened
world, like a caress from the rising sun, and the glimmer of dawn
kindled new hope in the breast of the vicomte. What a fool he was to let
himself succumb to fear before anything was decided--before his seconds
had interviewed those of Georges Lamil, before he even knew whether he
would have to fight or not!

He bathed, dressed, and left the house with a firm step.

He repeated as he went:

"I must be firm--very firm. I must show that I am not afraid."

His seconds, the marquis and the colonel, placed themselves at his
disposal, and, having shaken him warmly by the hand, began to discuss
details.

"You want a serious duel?" asked the colonel.

"Yes--quite serious," replied the vicomte.

"You insist on pistols?" put in the marquis.

"Yes."

"Do you leave all the other arrangements in our hands?"

With a dry, jerky voice the vicomte answered:

"Twenty paces--at a given signal--the arm to be raised, not
lowered--shots to be exchanged until one or other is seriously wounded."

"Excellent conditions," declared the colonel in a satisfied tone. "You
are a good shot; all the chances are in your favor."

And they parted. The vicomte returned home to, wait for them. His
agitation, only temporarily allayed, now increased momentarily. He felt,
in arms, legs and chest, a sort of trembling--a continuous vibration; he
could not stay still, either sitting or standing. His mouth was parched,
and he made every now and then a clicking movement of the tongue, as if
to detach it from his palate.

He attempted, to take luncheon, but could not eat. Then it occurred
to him to seek courage in drink, and he sent for a decanter of rum, of
which he swallowed, one after another, six small glasses.

A burning warmth, followed by a deadening of the mental faculties,
en