nge or to refrain
from sending one, save under very exceptional circumstances, was
tantamount to courting social death. They knew not that every door would
henceforth be closed against him; that his wife's best friends would
cease to call upon her, by direction of their husbands; that his
children at school would be shunned by their comrades; that no young man
of equal position to his, were he ever so much in love with his
daughter, would ask her to become his wife, that no parents would allow
their daughter to marry his son. That is what backing out of a duel
meant years ago; that is what it still means to-day--of course, I
repeat, with certain classes. Is it surprising, then, that with such a
prospect facing him, a man should risk death rather than become a
pariah? Would the English leader-writer, if he be a man of worth, like
to enter his club-room without a hand held out to welcome him from those
with whom he was but a few weeks ago on the most friendly footing,
without a voice to give him the time of day? I think not; and that is
what would happen if he were a Frenchman who neglected to ask
satisfaction for even an imaginary insult.

I knew M. Dujarrier, the general manager of _La Presse_, and feel
convinced that he was not a bit more quarrelsome or eager "to go out"
than Louis Blanc. It is, moreover, certain that he felt his inferiority,
both as a swordsman and as a marksman, to such a practised shot and
fencer as M. de Beauvallon; and well he might, seeing that subsequent
evidence proved that he, Dujarrier, had never handled either weapon. Yet
he not only strenuously opposed all attempts on the part of his friends
to effect a reconciliation, but would not afford a hint to his adversary
of his want of skill, lest the latter should make him a present of his
life. The present would not have been worth accepting. It would have
been a Nessus-shirt, and caused the moral death of the recipient.
Consequently, Dujarrier literally went like a lamb to the slaughter
rather than be branded as a coward, and he made no secret of his
contemplated sacrifice. "I have no alternative but to fight," he said,
two days before the meeting, to Alexandre Dumas, who taxed all his own
ingenuity, and that of his son, to prevent, at any rate, a fatal issue.
The only way to effect this, according to the very logical reasoning of
the two Dumases, was to induce Dujarrier, who, as the offended party,
had the choice of weapons, to choose the sword