I had expected to see two of the men with whom we had dined.  To my astonishment, the visitors proved to be officers of the General’s regiment.  They brought proposals for a hostile meeting the next morning; the choice of weapons being left to Romayne as the challenged man.

It was now quite plain to me that the General’s peculiar method of card-playing had, thus far, not been discovered and exposed.  He might keep doubtful company, and might (as I afterward heard) be suspected in certain quarters.  But that he still had, formally-speaking, a reputation to preserve, was proved by the appearance of the two gentlemen present as his representatives.  They declared, with evident sincerity, that Romayne had made a fatal mistake; had provoked the insult offered to him; and had resented it by a brutal and cowardly outrage.  As a man and a soldier, the General was doubly bound to insist on a duel.  No apology would be accepted, even if an apology were offered.

In this emergency, as I understood it, there was but one course to follow.  I refused to receive the challenge.

Being asked for my reasons, I found it necessary to speak within certain limits.  Though we knew the General to be a cheat, it was a delicate matter to dispute his right to claim satisfaction, when he had found two officers to carry his message.  I produced the seized cards (which Romayne had brought away with him in his pocket), and offered them as a formal proof that my friend had not been mistaken.

The seconds—­evidently prepared for this circumstance by their principal—­declined to examine the cards.  In the first place, they said, not even the discovery of foul play (supposing the discovery to have been really made) could justify Romayne’s conduct.  In the second place, the General’s high character made it impossible, under any circumstances, that he could be responsible.  Like ourselves, he had rashly associated with bad company; and he had been the innocent victim of an error or a fraud, committed by some other person present at the table.

Driven to my last resource, I could now only base my refusal to receive the challenge on the ground that we were Englishmen, and that the practice of dueling had been abolished in England.  Both the seconds at once declined to accept this statement in justification of my conduct.

“You are now in France,” said the elder of the two, “where a duel is the established remedy for an insult, among gentlemen.  You are bound to respect the social laws of the country in which you are for the time residing.  If you refuse to do so, you lay yourselves open to a public imputation on your courage, of a nature too degrading to be more particularly alluded to.  Let us adjourn this interview for three hours on the ground of informality.  We ought to confer with two gentlemen, acting on Mr. Romayne’s behalf.  Be prepared with another second to meet us, and reconsider your decision before we call again.”