Mrs. Culling promised him demurely that she would listen, objecting nothing to his plan, only to his French.

‘Messieurs de la Garde Francaise!’ he commenced.

Her criticism followed swiftly.

‘I think you are writing to the Garde Imperiale.’

He admitted his error, and thanked her warmly.

‘Messieurs de la Garde Imperiale!’

‘Does not that,’ she said, ’include the non-commissioned officers, the privates, and the cooks, of all the regiments?’

He could scarcely think that, but thought it provoking the French had no distinctive working title corresponding to gentlemen, and suggested ‘Messieurs les Officiers’:  which might, Mrs. Culling assured him, comprise the barbers.  He frowned, and she prescribed his writing, ‘Messieurs les Colonels de la Garde Imperiale.’  This he set down.  The point was that a stand must be made against the flood of sarcasms and bullyings to which the country was exposed in increasing degrees, under a belief that we would fight neither in the mass nor individually.  Possibly, if it became known that the colonels refused to meet a midshipman, the gentlemen of our Household troops would advance a step.

Mrs. Calling’s adroit efforts to weary him out of his project were unsuccessful.  He was too much on fire to know the taste of absurdity.

Nevil repeated what he had written in French, and next the English of what he intended to say.

The lady conscientiously did her utmost to reconcile the two languages.  She softened his downrightness, passed with approval his compliments to France and the ancient high reputation of her army, and, seeing that a loophole was left for them to apologize, asked how many French colonels he wanted to fight.

‘I do not want, ma’am,’ said Nevil.

He had simply taken up the glove they had again flung at our feet:  and he had done it to stop the incessant revilings, little short of positive contempt, which we in our indolence exposed ourselves to from the foreigner, particularly from Frenchmen, whom he liked; and precisely because he liked them he insisted on forcing them to respect us.  Let his challenge be accepted, and he would find backers.  He knew the stuff of Englishmen:  they only required an example.

‘French officers are skilful swordsmen,’ said Mrs. Culling.  ’My husband has told me they will spend hours of the day thrusting and parrying.  They are used to duelling.’

‘We,’ Nevil answered, ’don’t get apprenticed to the shambles to learn our duty on the field.  Duelling is, I know, sickening folly.  We go too far in pretending to despise every insult pitched at us.  A man may do for his country what he wouldn’t do for himself.’

Mrs. Culling gravely said she hoped that bloodshed would be avoided, and Mr. Beauchamp nodded.

She left him hard at work.