The arguments of the prudent officer did not deter me.  My resolution remained firm.

“As you like,” said Iwan Ignatiitch, “do as you please; but what good should I do as witness?  People fight; what is there extraordinary in that, allow me to ask?  Thank heaven I have seen the Swedes and the Turks at close quarters, and I have seen a little of everything.”

I endeavoured to explain to him as best I could the duty of a second, but I found Iwan Ignatiitch quite unmanageable.

“Do as you like,” said he; “if I meddled in the matter, it would be to go and tell Ivan Kouzmitch, according to the rules of the service, that a criminal deed is being plotted in the fort, in opposition to the interests of the crown, and remark to the Commandant how advisable it would be that he should think of taking the necessary measures.”

I was frightened, and I begged Iwan Ignatiitch not to say anything to the Commandant.  With great difficulty I managed to quiet him, and at last made him promise to hold his tongue, when I left him in peace.

As usual I passed the evening at the Commandant’s.  I tried to appear lively and unconcerned in order not to awaken any suspicions, and avoid any too curious questions.  But I confess I had none of the coolness of which people boast who have found themselves in the same position.  All that evening I felt inclined to be soft-hearted and sentimental.

Marya Ivanofna pleased me more than usual.  The thought that perhaps I was seeing her for the last time gave her, in my eyes, a touching grace.

Chvabrine came in.  I took him aside and told him about my interview with Iwan Ignatiitch.

“Why any seconds?” he said to me, dryly.  “We shall do very well without them.”

We decided to fight on the morrow behind the haystacks, at six o’clock in the morning.

Seeing us talking in such a friendly manner, Iwan Ignatiitch, full of joy, nearly betrayed us.

“You should have done that long ago,” he said to me, with a face of satisfaction.  “Better a hollow peace than an open quarrel.”

“What is that you say, Iwan Ignatiitch?” said the Commandant’s wife, who was playing patience in a corner.  “I did not exactly catch what you said.”

Iwan Ignatiitch, who saw my face darken, recollected his promise, became confused, and did not know what to say.  Chvabrine came to the rescue.

“Iwan Ignatiitch,” said he, “approves of the compact we have made.”

“And with whom, my little father, did you quarrel?”

“Why, with Petr’ Andrejitch, to be sure, and we even got to high words.”

“What for?”

“About a mere trifle, over a little song.”

“Fine thing to quarrel over—­a little song!  How did it happen?”

“Thus.  Petr’ Andrejitch lately composed a song, and he began singing it to me this morning.  So I—­I struck up mine, ’Captain’s daughter, don’t go abroad at dead of night!’ As we did not sing in the same key, Petr’ Andrejitch became angry.  But afterwards he reflected that ’every one is free to sing what he pleases,’ and that’s all.”