admire him; he is a great, a very great, man.”
“By Heavens! Sir John, I am sorry he is not here to hear an Englishman say that of him.”
“Oh! if he were here I should not say it.”
“Why not?”
“I should not want him to think I was trying to please him. I say so because it is my opinion.”
“I don’t doubt it, my lord,” said Roland, who did not see what the Englishman was aiming at, and who, having learned all that he wished to know through the passport, held himself upon his guard.
“And when I heard,” continued the Englishman with the same phlegm, “you defend General Bonaparte, I was much pleased.”
“Really?”
“Much pleased,” repeated the Englishman, nodding his head affirmatively.
“So much the better!”
“But when I saw you throw a plate at M. Alfred de Barjols’ head, I was much grieved.”
“You were grieved, my lord, and why?”
“Because in England no gentleman would throw a plate at the head of another gentleman.”
“My lord,” said Roland, rising with a frown, “have you perchance come here to read me a lecture?”
“Oh, no; I came to suggest that you are perhaps perplexed about finding a second?”
“My faith, Sir John! I admit that the moment when you knocked at the door I was wondering of whom I could ask this service.”
“Of me, if you wish,” said the Englishman. “I will be your second.”
“On my honor!” exclaimed Roland, “I accept with all my heart.”
“That is the service I wished to render you!”
Roland held out his hand, saying: “Thank you!”
The Englishman bowed.
“Now,” continued Roland, “as you have had the good taste, my lord, to tell me who you were before offering your services, it is but fair that, since I accept them, I should tell you who I am.”
“Oh! as you please.”
“My name is Louis de Montrevel; I am aide-de-camp to General Bonaparte.”
“Aide-de-camp to General Bonaparte. I am very glad.”
“That will explain why I undertook, rather too warmly perhaps, my general’s defence.”
“No, not too warmly; only, the plate – ”
“Oh, I know well that the provocation did not entail that plate. But what would you have me do! I held it in my hand, and, not knowing what to do with it, I threw it at M. de Barjols’ head; it went of itself without any will of mine.”
“You will not say that to him?”
“Reassure yourself; I tell you to salve your conscience.”
“Very well; then you will fight?”
“That is why I have remained here, at any rate.”
“What weapons?”
“That is not our affair, my lord.”
“What! not our affair?”
“No; M. de Barjols is the one insulted; the choice is his.”
“Then you will accept whatever he proposes?”
“Not I, Sir John, but you in my name, since you do me the honor to act as my second.”
“And if he selects pistols, what is the distance to be and how will you fight?”
“That is your affair, my lord, and not mine. I don’t know how you do in England, but in France the principals take no part in the arrangements. That duty devolves upon the seconds; what they decide is well decided!”
“Then my arrangements will be satisfactory?”
“Perfectly so, my lord.”
The Englishman bowed.
“What hour and what day?”
“Oh! as soon as possible; I have not seen my family for two years, and I confess that I am in a hurry to greet them.”
The Englishman looked at Roland with a certain wonder; he spoke with such assurance, as if he were certain that he would not be killed. Just then some one knocked at the door, and the voice of the innkeeper asked: “May I come in?”
The young man replied affirmatively. The door opened and the landlord entered, holding a card in his hand which he handed his guest. The young man took the card and read: “Charles du Valensolle.”
“From M. Alfred de Barjols,” said the host.
“Very well!” exclaimed Roland. Then handing the card to the Englishman, he said: “Here, this concerns you; it is unnecessary for me to see this monsieur – since we are no longer citizens – M. de Valensolle is M. de Barjols’ second; you are mine. Arrange this affair between you. Only,” added the young man, pressing the Englishman’s hand and looking fixedly at him, “see that it holds a chance of certain death for one of us. Otherwise I shall complain that it has been bungled.”
“Don’t worry,” said the Englishman, “I will act for you as for myself.”
“Excellent! Go now, and when everything is arranged come back. I shall not stir from here.”
Sir John followed the innkeeper. Roland reseated himself, twirled his chair back to its former position facing the table, took up his pen and began to write.
When Sir John returned, Roland had written and sealed two letters and was addressing a third. He signed to the Englishman to wait until he had finished, that he might give him his full attention. Then, the address finished, he sealed the letter, and turned around.
“Well,” he asked, “is everything arranged?”
“Yes,” said the Englishman, “it was an easy matter. You are dealing with a true gentleman.”
“So much the better!” exclaimed Roland, waiting.
“You will fight two hours hence by the fountain of Vaucluse – a charming spot – with pistols, advancing to each other, each to fire as he pleases and continuing to advance after his adversary’s fire.”
“By my faith! you are right, Sir John. That is, indeed, excellent. Did you arrange that?”
“I and M. de Barjols’ second, your adversary having renounced his rights of the insulted party.”
“Have you decided upon the weapons?”
“I offered my pistols. They
