And here I cannot help dwelling upon the “tableau” which met our view.  In the porch of the little rural mill sat two gentlemen, one of whom I immediately recognised as the person who had waited upon me, and the other I rightly conjectured to be my adversary.  Before them stood a small table, covered with a spotless napkin, upon which a breakfast equipage was spread—­a most inviting melon and a long, slender-necked bottle, reposing in a little ice-pail, forming part of the “materiel.”  My opponent was cooly enjoying his cigar—­a half-finished cup of coffee lay beside him—­his friend was occupied in examining the caps of the duelling pistols, which were placed upon a chair.  No sooner had we turned the angle which brought us in view, than they both rose, and, taking off their hats with much courtesy, bade us good morning.

“May I offer you a cup of coffee,” said Monsieur Derigny to me, as I came up, at the same time filling it out, and pushing over a little flask of Cogniac towards me.

A look from Trevanion decided my acceptance of the proferred civility, and I seated myself in the chair beside the baron.  Trevanion meanwhile had engaged my adversary in conversation along with the stranger, who had been our guide, leaving O’Leary alone unoccupied, which, however, he did not long remain; for, although uninvited by the others, he seized a knife and fork, and commenced a vigorous attack upon a partridge pie near him; and, with equal absence of ceremony, uncorked the champaign and filled out a foaming goblet, nearly one-third of the whole bottle, adding—­

“I think, Mr. Lorrequer, there’s nothing like showing them that we are just as cool and unconcerned as themselves.”

If I might judge from the looks of the party, a happier mode of convincing them of our “free-and-easy” feelings could not possibly have been discovered.  From any mortification this proceeding might have caused me, I was speedily relieved by Trevanion calling O’Leary to one side, while he explained to him that he must nominally act as second on the ground, as Trevanion, being a resident in Paris, might become liable to a prosecution, should any thing serious arise, while O’Leary, as a mere passer through, could cross the frontier into Germany, and avoid all trouble.

O’Leary at once acceded—­perhaps the more readily because he expected to be allowed to return to his breakfast—­but in this he soon found himself mistaken, for the whole party now rose, and preceded by the baron, followed the course of the little stream.

After about five minutes’ walking, we found ourselves at the outlet of the glen, which was formed by a large stone quarry, making a species of amphitheatre, with lofty walls of rugged granite, rising thirty or forty feet on either side of us.  The ground was smooth and level as a boarded floor, and certainly to amateurs in these sort of matters, presented a most perfect spot for a “meeting.”