Good-night!’ I wished to give them something to dream of, you understand....  Patience, my dear!  Patience!  I was, coming to you, but I thought I would let them sleep on it—­there was plenty of time!  But yesterday morning I came into the Place, and there he was on the bench, with a big dog.  I declare to you he blushed like a young girl.  ‘Sir,’ he said, ’I was hoping to meet you; last evening I made a great disturbance.  I took an unpardonable liberty’—­and he put in my hand an envelope.  My friend, what do you suppose it contained—­a pair of gloves!  Senor Don Punctilioso, hein?  He was the devil, this friend of yours; he fascinated me with his gentle eyes and his white moustachettes, his humility, his flames—­poor man...!  I told him I had been asked to take him a challenge.  ‘If anything comes of it,’ I said, ‘make use of me!’ ’Is that so?’ he said.  ’I am most grateful for your kind offer.  Let me see—­it is so long since I fought a duel.  The sooner it’s over the better.  Could you arrange to-morrow morning?  Weapons?  Yes; let them choose.’  You see, my friend, there was no hanging back here; nous voila en train.”

Jules took out his watch.  “I have sixteen minutes.  It is lucky for you that you were away yesterday, or you would be in my shoes now.  I fixed the place, right hand of the road to Roquebrune, just by the railway cutting, and the time—­five-thirty of the morning.  It was arranged that I should call for him.  Disgusting hour; I have not been up so early since I fought Jacques Tirbaut in ’85.  At five o’clock I found him ready and drinking tea with rum in it—­singular man! he made me have some too, brrr!  He was shaved, and dressed in that old frock-coat.  His great dog jumped into the carriage, but he bade her get out, took her paws on his shoulders, and whispered in her ear some Italian words; a charm, hein! and back she went, the tail between the legs.  We drove slowly, so as not to shake his arm.  He was more gay than I. All the way he talked to me of you:  how kind you were! how good you had been to him!  ’You do not speak of yourself!’ I said.  ’Have you no friends, nothing to say?  Sometimes an accident will happen!’ ‘Oh!’ he answered, ’there is no danger; but if by any chance—­well, there is a letter in my pocket.’  ’And if you should kill him?’ I said.  ‘But I shall not,’ he answered slyly:  ’do you think I am going to fire at him?  No, no; he is too young.’  ‘But,’ I said, ’I—­’I am not going to stand that!’ ‘Yes,’ he replied, ’I owe him a shot; but there is no danger—­not the least danger.’  We had arrived; already they were there.  Ah bah!  You know the preliminaries, the politeness—­this duelling, you know, it is absurd, after all.  We placed them at twenty paces.  It is not a bad place.  There are pine-trees round, and rocks; at that hour it was cool and grey as a church.  I handed him the pistol.  How can I describe him to you, standing there, smoothing the barrel with his fingers!  ‘What a beautiful thing a good pistol!’ he said.  ’Only a fool or a madman throws away his life,’ I said.  ‘Certainly,’ he replied, ‘certainly; but there is no danger,’ and he regarded me, raising his moustachette.