The Frenchmen had barely taken their departure by one door, when Romayne entered by another.

“I have heard it all,” he said, quietly.  “Accept the challenge.”

I declare solemnly that I left no means untried of opposing my friend’s resolution.  No man could have felt more strongly convinced than I did, that nothing could justify the course he was taking.  My remonstrances were completely thrown away.  He was deaf to sense and reason, from the moment when he had heard an imputation on his courage suggested as a possible result of any affair in which he was concerned.

“With your views,” he said, “I won’t ask you to accompany me to the ground.  I can easily find French seconds.  And mind this, if you attempt to prevent the meeting, the duel will take place elsewhere—­and our friendship is at an end from that moment.”

After this, I suppose it is needless to add that I accompanied him to the ground the next morning as one of his seconds.

V.

We were punctual to the appointed hour—­eight o’clock.

The second who acted with me was a French gentleman, a relative of one of the officers who had brought the challenge.  At his suggestion, we had chosen the pistol as our weapon.  Romayne, like most Englishmen at the present time, knew nothing of the use of the sword.  He was almost equally inexperienced with the pistol.

Our opponents were late.  They kept us waiting for more than ten minutes.  It was not pleasant weather to wait in.  The day had dawned damp and drizzling.  A thick white fog was slowly rolling in on us from the sea.

When they did appear, the General was not among them.  A tall, well-dressed young man saluted Romayne with stern courtesy, and said to a stranger who accompanied him:  “Explain the circumstances.”

The stranger proved to be a surgeon.  He entered at once on the necessary explanation.  The General was too ill to appear.  He had been attacked that morning by a fit—­the consequence of the blow that he had received.  Under these circumstances, his eldest son (Maurice) was now on the ground to fight the duel on his father’s behalf; attended by the General’s seconds, and with the General’s full approval.

We instantly refused to allow the duel to take place, Romayne loudly declaring that he had no quarrel with the General’s son.  Upon this, Maurice broke away from his seconds; drew off one of his gloves; and stepping close up to Romayne, struck him on the face with the glove.  “Have you no quarrel with me now?” the young Frenchman asked.  “Must I spit on you, as my father did?” His seconds dragged him away, and apologized to us for the outbreak.  But the mischief was done.  Romayne’s fiery temper flashed in his eyes.  “Load the pistols,” he said.  After the insult publicly offered to him, and the outrage publicly threatened, there was no other course to take.