the drawing of the pistols." That was a matter of indifference to
Duroy. They helped him off with his overcoat, led him to the ground
set apart for the duel, and gave him his pistol. Before him stood a
man, short, stout, and bald, who wore glasses. That was his
adversary. A voice broke the silence--a voice which came from afar:
"Are you ready, sirs?"

Georges cried: "Yes."

The same voice commanded: "Fire!"

Duroy heard nothing more, saw nothing more; he only knew that he
raised his arm and pressed with all his strength upon the trigger.
Soon he saw a little smoke before him; his opponent was still
standing in the same position, and there was a small white cloud
above his head. They had both fired. All was over! His second and
the doctor felt him, unbuttoned his garments, and asked anxiously:
"Are you wounded?" He replied: "No, I think not."

Langremont was not wounded either, and Jacques Rival muttered
discontentedly: "That is always the way with those cursed pistols,
one either misses or kills one's opponent"

Duroy was paralyzed with surprise and joy. All was over! He felt
that he could fight the entire universe. All was over! What bliss!
He felt brave enough to provoke anyone. The seconds consulted
several moments, then the duelists and their friends entered the
carriages and drove off. When the official report was drawn up, it
was handed to Duroy who was to insert it in the "Echoes." He was
surprised to find that two balls had been fired.