"Orgeat, lemonade, beer."

Madame Walter and her daughters reached the seats reserved for them in
the front row. Du Roy, having installed them there, was about to quit
them, saying: "I am obliged to leave you; we men must not collar the
seats."

But Madame Walter remarked, in a hesitating tone: "I should very much
like to have you with us all the same. You can tell me the names of the
fencers. Come, if you stand close to the end of the seat you will not be
in anyone's way." She looked at him with her large mild eyes, and
persisted, saying: "Come, stay with us, Monsieur--Pretty-boy. We have
need of you."

He replied: "I will obey with pleasure, madame."

On all sides could be heard the remark: "It is very funny, this cellar;
very pretty, too."

George knew it well, this vault. He recalled the morning he had passed
there on the eve of his duel, alone in front of the little white carton
target that had glared at him from the depths of the inner cellar like a
huge and terrible eye.

The voice of Jacques Rival sounded from the staircase: "Just about to
begin, ladies." And six gentlemen, in very tight-fitting clothes, to set
off their chests, mounted the platform, and took their seats on the
chairs reserved for the judges. Their names flew about. General de
Reynaldi, the president, a short man, with heavy moustaches; the

painter, Josephin Roudet, a tall, ball-headed man, with a long beard;
Mattheo de Ujar, Simon Ramoncel, Pierre de Carvin, three
fashionable-looking young fellows; and Gaspard Merleron, a master. Two
placards were hung up on the two sides of the vault. That on the right
was inscribed "M. Crevecoeur," and that on the left "M. Plumeau."

They were two professors, two good second-class masters. They made their
appearance, both sparely built, with military air and somewhat stiff
movements. Having gone through the salute with automatic action, they
began to attack one another, resembling in their white costumes of
leather and duck, two soldier pierrots fighting for fun. From time to
time the word "Touched" was heard, and the six judges nodded with the
air of connoisseurs. The public saw nothing but two living marionettes
moving about and extending their arms; they understood nothing, but they
were satisfied. These two men seemed to them, however, not over
graceful, and vaguely ridiculous. They reminded them of the wooden
wrestlers sold on the boulevards at the New Year's Fair.

The first couple of fencer