"But," remarked Monsieur de Breuilly, "you are a very good pistol-shot. I
have seen you at work. Are you certain to be a better swordsman? Do not
deceive yourself; this will be a mortal combat."

"I am satisfied of that," he replied, with a smile; "but I am particularly
anxious for swords, if at all possible."

After the expression of so formal a wish, we could but esteem ourselves
fortunate in obtaining the choice of arms, and the meeting was settled for
the next morning at nine o'clock.

During the remainder of the day, Monsieur George manifested an ease of
mind, and even at intervals a certain gayety, at which we were quite
surprised, and which Madame de Malouet, in particular, was at a loss to
understand. My poor wife of course had been left in ignorance of these
recent events.

At ten o'clock he retired, and I could still see a light through his
window two hours later. Impelled by my earnest affection and I know not
what vague anxiety was haunting me, I entered his room at about midnight;
I found him very calm; he had been writing and was just sealing up a few
envelopes.

"There!" he said, handing me the papers. "Now the worst is over, and I am
going to sleep the sleep of the just."

I thought it best to offer him a few more technical suggestions on the
handling of the weapon he was soon to use. He listened to me without much
attention, and suddenly extending his arm: