“I owe you twenty louis also;” but I made no reply.

Schmit put the money in his purse with the calmest air imaginable, and making no reply to the other’s boast placed himself between two trees, distant about four paces from one another, and drawing two pistols from his pocket said to d’Ache,

“Place yourself at a distance of ten paces, and fire first.  I shall walk to and fro between these two trees, and you may walk as far if you like to do so when my turn comes to fire.”

Nothing could be clearer or more calmly delivered than this explanation.

“But we must decide,” said I, “who is to have the first shot.”

“There is no need,” said Schmit.  “I never fire first, besides, the gentleman has a right to the first shot.”

De Pyene placed his friend at the proper distance and then stepped aside, and d’Ache fired on his antagonist, who was walking slowly to and fro without looking at him.  Schmit turned round in the coolest manner possible, and said,

“You have missed me, sir; I knew you would.  Try again.”

I thought he was mad, and that some arrangement would be come to; but nothing of the kind.  D’Ache fired a second time, and again missed; and Schmit, without a word, but as calm as death, fired his first pistol in the air, and then covering d’Ache with his second pistol hit him in the forehead and stretched him dead on the ground.  He put back his pistols into his pocket and went off directly by himself, as if he were merely continuing his walk.  In two minutes I followed his example, after ascertaining that the unfortunate d’Ache no longer breathed.

I was in a state of amazement.  Such a duel was more like a combat of romance than a real fact.  I could not understand it; I had watched the Swiss, and had not noticed the slightest change pass over his face.

I breakfasted with Madame d’Urfe, whom I found inconsolable.  It was the full moon, and at three minutes past four exactly I ought to perform the mysterious creation of the child in which she was to be born again.  But the Lascaris, on whom the work was to be wrought, was twisting and turning in her bed, contorting herself in such a way that it would be impossible for me to accomplish the prolific work.

My grief, when I heard what had happened, was hypocritical; in the first place because I no longer felt any desire for the girl, and in the second because I thought I saw a way in which I could make use of the incident to take vengeance on her.

I lavished consolations on Madame d’Urfe; and on consulting the oracle I found that the Lascaris had been defiled by an evil genius, and that I must search for another virgin whose purity must be under the protection of more powerful spirits.  I saw that my madwoman was perfectly happy with this, and I left her to visit the Corticelli, whom I found in bed with her mother beside her.

“You have convulsions, have you, dearest?” said I.