That was all there was on the card! He began examining the group of letters of which the name was composed, and they seemed to him obscure and mysterious...

Georges Lamil! Who could this man be? And why had he gazed at the lady in that fashion? Does a man not feel a surge of rage when a stranger bursts into the course of his life and turns it upside down — all for an insolent fellow who devours the ladies with his sharp, offen-sive stares?

And the Viscount repeated his phrase once more:

"What a brute!"

Then he stood still in his place, making no movement, thinking... and thinking, his eyes fixed upon the card. He felt a fury blaze up in his heart, as though that scrap of paper were its source... a fury mixed with bitter hatred and pain. He took up a penknife and drove it into the card, tearing it and splitting his adversary's name printed at its center, as though he were running a man through.

So then, he must fight! Should he choose the sword or the pistol? To use the sword was less dangerous... duels with the sword rarely end in death, for the two adversaries fight separated from one another by so great a distance that the thrusts are not mortal.

"I must be firm and steadfast. That will cast terror into my adversary's heart." The tone of his own voice frightened him, and he looked about him. He was in a state of agitation beyond all measure. He drank another glass of water, then began taking off his clothes to prepare for sleep; and when he had finished, he put out the light and closed his eyes.

"I have the whole of tomorrow before me to settle my affairs. Now I must take to my bed and keep my calm." He felt entirely

warm as he turned in his bed, but he could not taste sleep. He felt thirsty, rose from his bed, and drank. And a strange question leapt into his head:

"Is it possible that I am afraid? Why does my heart pound so hard whenever any sound in the room reaches my ear?"

And he began to weigh matters within himself.

"Of what am I afraid?"

No, certainly not... he was not afraid, since he had determined to go the whole course to the end, since he had resolved to fight without hesitation or twinge of conscience.

But he found himself so pro-foundly disturbed that he began asking himself:

"Can it be that I am afraid in spite of myself?"

A sudden idea took hold of him, and he rose and went to the mirror to look at his face in it... He lit the candle, and when his image was reflected on the surface of the mirror he did not recognize himself; he seemed to see a man he had never known before. His eyes were dilated... his face was covered with pallor. Then he put out his tongue, as though to test his condition — and suddenly a new thought came upon him:

"At this very hour tomorrow I may be numbered among the dead." He turned about... and saw himself lying on the bed in his outdoor clothes, with the marks of death upon his face. Terror of his bed took hold of him... and to avoid the sight of that spectacle he went to the smoking room. He took a roll of tobacco and lit it, then began walking about the room. He was shivering with cold, and he moved toward the bell to wake his servant — but his hand remained gripping the cord without moving it.

"My servant will notice that I am afraid."

So he lit a fire for himself,

and his hands trembled whenever they knocked against any of his things. His head began to spin, and his thoughts to churn and tangle, as though he had drunk to excess:

"What shall I do?... What is going to happen to me?" His whole body was trembling. He rose from his place and drew back the window curtains. Dawn broke — and it was the dawn of a summer day... The red glow was reflected upon the roofs and walls of the houses. A ray of light stole into his room and revived in the Viscount's heart the dead embers of hope.

What a fool he was... to let fear take hold of him before anything at all had happened... before his seconds had met the seconds of Georges Lamil... and before he knew whether he would go through with his duel or not.

He rose, put on his clothes, and left the house with a firm step, never ceasing to repeat:

"I must appear firm and steadfast, so as not to seem in the guise of a frightened man."

The two seconds, the Marquis and the Colonel, placed them-selves at his command, and after exchanging greetings they began to discuss certain matters between them. The Colonel said:

"Do you wish the duel to be serious?"

"Yes, serious... serious to the utmost limit..."

"You will use the pistol as your weapon?"

"Yes."

"And now we shall leave you free to settle some of the details..."

The Viscount said in a dry, quavering voice:

"Twenty paces... and at the raising of the arm — rather, its lowering — the exchange of fire begins, until one of the two is gravely wounded..."

The Colonel said:

"These are good conditions.