“Enough, Monsieur,” replied the Baron coldly.  “You are doing as I should do in your place; but this discussion is out of place; let this woman exculpate herself.  There should be no mention of her between us now.”

“When I protest that upon my honor—­”

“Monsieur, under such conditions, a false oath is not dishonorable.  I have been a bachelor myself, and I know that anything is allowable against a husband.  Let us drop this, I beg of you, and return to facts.  I consider that I have been insulted by you, and you must give me satisfaction for this insult.”

Octave made a sign of acquiescence.

“One of us must die,” replied Bergenheim, leaning his elbow negligently upon the mantel.  The lover bowed his head a second time.

“I have offended you,” said he; “you have the right to choose the reparation due you.”

“There is only one possible, Monsieur.  Blood alone can wipe away the disgrace; you know it as well as I. You have dishonored my home, you owe me your life for that.  If Fate favors you, you will be rid of me, and I shall be wronged in every way.  There are arrangements to be made, and we shall settle them at once, if you are willing.”

He pushed an armchair toward Gerfaut, and took another himself.

They seated themselves beside a desk which stood in the middle of the room, and, with an equal appearance of sang-froid and polite haughtiness, they discussed this murderous combat.

“It is not necessary for me to say to you,” said Octave, “that I accept in advance whatever you may decide upon; the weapons, place, and seconds—­”

“Listen to me, then,” interrupted Bergenheim; “you just now spoke in favor of this woman in a way that made me think you did not wish her ruined in the eyes of the world; so I trust you will accept the proposition I am about to make to you.  An ordinary duel would arouse suspicion and inevitably lead to a discovery of the truth; people would seek for some plausible motive for the encounter, whatever story we might tell our seconds.  You know that there is but one motive which will be found acceptable by society for a duel between a young man who had been received as a guest of this house and the husband.  In whatever way this duel may terminate, this woman’s honor would remain on the ground with the dead, and that is what I wish to avoid, since she bears my name.”

“Will you explain to me what your plan is?” asked Octave, who could not understand what his adversary had in mind.

“You know, Monsieur,” Bergenheim continued, in his calm voice, “that I had a perfect right to kill you a moment ago; I did not do so for two reasons:  first, a gentleman should use his sword and not a poniard, and then your dead body would have embarrassed me.”

“The river is close by!” interrupted Gerfaut, with a strange smile.

Christian looked at him fixedly for a moment, and then replied in a slightly changed tone: