to his left uneasily. He was thirsty; he rose, he felt restless

"Am I afraid?" he asked himself.

Why did his heart palpitate so wildly at the slightest sound? He
began to reason philosophically on the possibility of being afraid.
No, certainly he was not, since he was ready to fight. Still he felt
so deeply moved that he wondered if one could be afraid in spite of
oneself. What would happen if that state of things should exist? If
he should tremble or lose his presence of mind? He lighted his
candle and looked in the glass; he scarcely recognized his own face,
it was so changed.

Suddenly he thought: "To-morrow at this time I may be dead." He
turned to his couch and saw himself stretched lifeless upon it. He
hastened to the window and opened it; but the night air was so
chilly that he closed it, lighted a fire, and began to pace the
floor once more, saying mechanically: "I must be more composed. I
will write to my parents, in case of accident." He took a sheet of
paper and after several attempts began:

"My dear father and mother:"

"At daybreak I am going to fight a duel, and as something
might happen--"

He could write no more, he rose with a shudder. It seemed to him
that notwithstanding his efforts, he would not have the strength
necessary to face the meeting. He wondered if his adversary had ever
fought before; if he were known? He had never heard his name.