“One moment, gentlemen.  I desire to say a few words in your presence to Monsieur Dorsenne.”

“I am at your service, Gorka,” replied Julien, who did not suspect the hostile intention of his old friend.  He did not divine the form which that hostility was about to take, but he had always upon his mind his word of honor falsely given, and he was prepared to answer for it.

“It will not take much time, sir,” continued Boleslas, still with the same insolently formal politeness, “you know we have an account to settle....  But as I have some cause not to believe in the validity of your honor, I should like to remove all cause of evasion.”  And before any one could interfere in the unheard-of proceedings he had raised his glove and struck Dorsenne in the face.  As Gorka spoke, the writer turned pale.  He had not the time to reply to the audacious insult offered him by a similar one, for the three witnesses of the scene cast themselves between him and his aggressor.  He, however, pushed them aside with a resolute air.

“Remember, sirs,” said he, “that by preventing me from inflicting on Monsieur Gorka the punishment he deserves, you force me to obtain another reparation.  And I demand it immediately....  I will not leave this place,” he continued, “without having obtained it.”

“Nor I, without having given it to you,” replied Boleslas.  “It is all I ask.”

“No, Dorsenne,” cried Montfanon, who had been the first to seize the raised arm of the writer, “you shall not fight thus.  First, you have no right.  It requires at least twenty-four hours between the provocation and the encounter....  And you, sirs, must not agree to serve as seconds for Monsieur Gorka, after he has failed in a manner so grave in all the rules of the ground....  If you lend yourselves to it, it is barbarous, it is madness, whatsoever you like.  It is no longer a duel.”

“I repeat, Montfanon,” replied Dorsenne, “that I will not leave here and that I will not allow Monsieur Gorka to leave until I have obtained the reparation to which I feel I have the right.”

“And I repeat that I am at Monsieur Dorsenne’s service,” replied Boleslas.

“Very well, sirs,” said Montfanon.  “There only remains for us to leave you to arrange it one with the other as you wish, and for us to withdraw....  Is not that your opinion?” he continued, addressing Cibo and Pietrapertosa, who did not reply immediately.

“Certainly,” finally said one; “the case is difficult.”

“There are, however, precedents,” insinuated the other.

“Yes,” resumed Cibo, “if it were only the two successive duels of Henry de Pene.”

“Which furnish authority,” concluded Pietrapertosa.

“Authority has nothing to do with it,” again exclaimed Montfanon.  “I know, for my part, that I am not here to assist at a butchery, and that I will not assist at it....  I am going, sirs, and I expect you will do the same, for I do not suppose you would select coachmen to play the part of seconds....  Adieu, Dorsenne....  You do not doubt my friendship for you....  I think I am giving you a veritable proof of it by not permitting you to fight under such conditions.”