“We’ll wait till to-morrow,” said I, “if you’ll promise not to seek to see or speak to Mlle. Delhasse till to-morrow.  Otherwise we’ll fight tonight, seconds or no seconds, light or no light!”

I never understood perfectly the temper of the man, nor the sudden gusts of passion to which, at a word that chanced to touch him, he was subject.  Such a storm caught him now, and he bounded up from where he sat, cursing me for an insolent fellow who dared to put him under terms—­for a fool who flattered himself that all women loved him—­and for many other things which it is not well to repeat.  So that at last I said: 

“Lead the way, then:  you know the best place, I suppose.”

Still muttering in fury, cursing now me, now the neglectful seconds, he strode rapidly on to the sands and led the way at a quick pace, walking nearly toward the setting sun.  The land trended the least bit outward here, and the direction kept us well under the lee of a rough stone wall that fringed the sands on the landward side.  Stunted bushes raised their heads above the wall, and the whole made a perfect screen.  Thus we walked for some ten minutes with the sun in our eyes and the murmur of the sea in our ears.  Then at a spot where the bushes rose highest the duke abruptly stopped, saying, “Here,” and took the case of pistols out of his pocket.  He examined the loading, handing each in turn to me.  While this was being done neither of us spoke.  Then he held them both out, the stocks towards me; and I took the one nearest to my hand.  The duke laid the other down on the sands and motioned me to follow his example; and he took his handkerchief out of his pocket and wound it round his right hand, confining the fingers closely.

“Tie the knot, if you can,” said he, holding out his hand thus bound.

“So far I am willing to trust you,” said I; but he bowed ironically as he answered: 

“It will be awkward enough anyhow for the one of us that chances to kill the other, seeing that we have no seconds or witnesses; but it would look too black against me, if my right hand were free while yours is in a sling.  So pray, Mr. Aycon, do not insist on trusting me too much, but tie the knot if your wounded arm will let you.”

Engrossed with my thoughts and my schemes, I had not dwelt on the danger to which he called my attention, and I admit that I hesitated.

“I have no wish to be called a murderer,” said I.  “Shall we not wait again for M. de Vieuville and his friend?”

“Curse them!” said he, fury in his eye again.  “By Heavens, if I live, I’ll have a word with them for playing me such a trick!  The light is all but gone now.  Come, take your place.  There is little choice.”

“You mean to fight, then?”

“Not if you will leave me in peace:  but if not—­”

“Let us go back to the inn and fight to-morrow:  and meanwhile things shall stand as they are,” said I, repeating my offer, in the hope that he would now be more reasonable.