“I am quite ready,” he said, “to give Monsieur le Vicomte full satisfaction.”

The room was by this time crowded to suffocation.  I forced my way through, and laid my hand on Dalrymple’s arm.

“You have provoked this quarrel,” I said, reproachfully.

“That, my dear fellow, is precisely what I came here to do,” he replied.  “You will have to be my second in this affair.”

Here De Simoncourt came up, and hearing the last words, drew me aside.

“I act for De Caylus,” he whispered.  “Pistols, of course?”

I nodded, still all bewilderment at my novel position.

“Your man received the first blow, so is entitled to the first shot.”

I nodded again.

“I don’t know a better place,” he went on, “than Bellevue.  There’s a famous little bit of plantation, and it is just far enough from Paris to be secure.  The Bois is hackneyed, and the police are too much about it.

“Just so,” I replied, vaguely.

“And when shall we say?  The sooner the better, it always seems to me, in these cases.”

“Oh, certainly—­the sooner the better.”

He looked at his watch.

“It is now ten minutes to five,” he said.  “Suppose we allow them five hours to put their papers in order, and meet at Bellevue, on the terrace, at ten?”

“So soon!” I exclaimed.

“Soon!” echoed De Simoncourt.  “Why, under circumstances of such exceeding aggravation, most men would send for pistols and settle it across the table!”

I shuddered.  These niceties of honor were new to me, and I had been brought up to make little distinction between duelling and murder.

“Be it so, then, Monsieur De Simoncourt,” I said.  “We will meet you at Bellevue, at ten.”

“On the terrace?”

“On the terrace.”

We bowed and parted.  Dalrymple was already gone, and De Caylus, still white and trembling with rage, was wiping the wine from his face and shirt.  The crowd opened for me right and left as I went through the salon, and more than one voice whispered:—­

“He is the Englishman’s second.”

I took my hat and cloak mechanically, and let myself out.  It was broad daylight, and the blinding sun poured full upon my eyes as I passed into the street.

“Come, Damon,” said Dalrymple, crossing over to me from the opposite side of the way.  “I have just caught a cab—­there it is, waiting round the corner!  We’ve no time to lose, I’ll be bound.”

“We are to meet them at Bellevue at ten,” I replied.

“At ten?  Hurrah! then I’ve still five certain hours of life before me!  Long enough, Damon, to do a world of mischief, if one were so disposed!”

CHAPTER L.

THE DUEL AT BELLEVUE.