ave them to his enemy,
saying,

"I may be mistaken, but I hope to make you pay dearly for your
brutality." Then turning to me he said,

"I owe you twenty louis also;" but I made no reply.

Schmit put the money in his purse with the calmest air imaginable, and
making no reply to the other's boast placed himself between two trees,
distant about four paces from one another, and drawing two pistols from
his pocket said to d'Ache,

"Place yourself at a distance of ten paces, and fire first. I shall walk
to and fro between these two trees, and you may walk as far if you like
to do so when my turn comes to fire."

Nothing could be clearer or more calmly delivered than this explanation.

"But we must decide," said I, "who is to have the first shot."

"There is no need," said Schmit. "I never fire first, besides, the
gentleman has a right to the first shot."

De Pyene placed his friend at the proper distance and then stepped aside,
and d'Ache fired on his antagonist, who was walking slowly to and fro
without looking at him. Schmit turned round in the coolest manner
possible, and said,

"You have missed me, sir; I knew you would. Try again."

I thought he was mad, and that some arrangement would be come to; but
nothing of the kind. D'Ache fired a second time, and again missed; and
Schmit, without a word, but as calm as death, fired his first pistol in
the air, and then covering d'Ache with his second pistol hit him in the
forehead and stretched him dead on the ground. He put back his pistols
into his pocket and went off directly by himself, as if he were merely
continuing his walk. In two minutes I followed his example, after
ascertaining that the unfortunate d'Ache no longer breathed.

I was in a state of amazement. Such a duel was more like a combat of
romance than a real fact. I could not understand it; I had watched the
Swiss, and had not noticed the slightest change pass over his face.

I breakfasted with Madame d'Urfe, whom I found inconsolable. It was the
full moon, and at three minutes past four exactly I ought to perform the
mysterious creation of the child in which she was to be born again. But
the Lascaris, on whom the work was to be wrought, was twisting and
turning in her bed, contorting herself in such a way that it would be
impossible for me to accomplish the prolific work.

My grief, when I heard what had happened, was hypocritical; in the first
place because I no longer felt any desire for the girl