“That is none of your business,” said I, frowning.  “I want neither your advice nor supposition.”

“Oh! oh! vain poet; discreet lover,” continued Alexis, irritating me more and more, “listen to friendly counsel:  if you want to succeed do not confine yourself to songs.”

“What do you mean, sir?  Explain!”

“With pleasure,” he replied.  “I mean that if you wish to form an intimacy with Marie Mironoff, you have only to give her a pair of earrings instead of your lackadaisical verses.”

All my blood boiled.  “Why have you this opinion of her?” I asked, with much effort restraining my anger.

“Because,” said he, “of my own experience.”

“You lie, wretch,” I cried, with furry, “you lie, shamelessly.”

Alexis was enraged.

“That shall not pass so,” he said, grasping my hand.  “You shall give me satisfaction.”

“When ever you like,” I replied, joyfully, for at that moment I was ready to tear him to pieces.  I ran at once to see Ivan Ignatius, whom I found with a needle in his hand.  According to orders from the Commandant’s wife, he was stringing mushrooms which were to be dried for winter use.

“Ah!  Peter Grineff, be welcome.  Dare I ask on what business God sends you here?”

In a few words I told him of my quarrel with Alexis, and begged him, Ignatius, to be my second.  Ignatius heard me to the end with great attention, opening wide his only eye.

“You deign to say that you want to kill Alexis, and desire that I should witness the act?  Is that what you mean, dare I ask?”

“Precisely.”

“Ah! what folly; you have had some words with Alexis.  What then?  A harsh word can not be hung up by the neck.  He gives you impertinence, give him the same; if he give you a slap, return the blow; he a second, you a third; in the end we will compel you to make peace.  Whilst if you fight—­well, if you should kill him, God be with him! for I do not like him much; but if he should perforate you, what a nice piece of business!  Then who will pay for the broken pots?”

The arguments of the prudent officer did not shake my resolution.

“Do as you like,” said Ignatius, “but what’s the use of having me as a witness?  People fight—­that’s nothing extraordinary—­I have often been quite close to Swedes and Turks, and people of all shades of color.”

I tried to explain to him the duties of a second; Ignatius would not, or could not understand me.  “Follow your own fashion,” said he, “if I were to meddle in this affair, it would be to announce to Ivan Mironoff, according to rule, that a plot is being made in the fortress for the commission of a criminal action—­one contrary to the interests of the crown.”

I was alarmed, and begged Ignatius to say nothing to the Commandant.  He gave me his word that he would be silent, and I left him in peace.  As usual I passed the evening at the Commandant’s, forcing myself to be calm and gay, in order not to awaken suspicions and to avoid questioning.  I confess that I had not the coolness of which people boast who have been in a similar position.  I was disposed to tenderness.  Marie Mironoff seemed more attractive than ever.  The idea that perhaps I saw her for the last time, gave her a touching grace.