"Well, that is your affair, ... but your taste is peculiar, I must say."
I fell back on guard, I attacked him en quarte, and without making a pass with my sword in order to feel my way with my man, I thrust out freely en tierce. He gave a leap backwards, stumbled over a vine-root and fell head over heels.
"Oh! oh!" exclaimed Tallancourt, "have you really killed him at the first blow?"
"No," I replied, "I think not; I had not even passed, I hardly touched him."
In the meantime, my opponent's seconds had run up to M. B——, who was getting up. The point of my sword had pierced his shoulder, and as its position in the snow had frozen the steel, the sensation it had given my opponent was so startling that, lightly though he was wounded, the shock had overturned him. Luckily I had not passed first, or I should certainly have run him right through. It turned out. that the poor lad had never handled a sword before!
When he made this confession, and in consideration of the wound he had received, it was decided the fight should stop there. I put up my sword in its shield; I donned my shirt, waistcoat and coat; I wrapped myself in my Quiroga, and I descended the ramparts of Montmartre with a much lighter heart than I had ascended them.
Such was the cause, such were the sensations, such was the issue of my first duel. What has become of the two men who were my seconds? I have lost sight of Betz: he obtained a post as receveur particulier in the provinces. A vague rumour has since reached me of his death. As for Tallancourt, poor fellow! I saw him die most miserably, unfortunate and unhappy. The Duc d'Orléans took a fancy to him; for he was of the type of tools the prince loved—active but not too clever. Moreover, Tallancourt possessed a further qualification: although he was sufficiently intelligent, he knew when to appear stupid. When the Duc d'Orléans became king, he sent for Tallancourt, for he could not do without him. If his fortune were not exactly made—fortunes are not often made through being associated with kings—his position was, at any rate, secure. As Tallancourt had not left the Duc d'Orléans during 27, 28 and 29 July, he knew a fair number of state secrets concerning the Revolution of 1830. When the king was at Neuilly, he would purposely send Tallancourt to Paris, and the Hercules of a fellow, ill at ease in his arm-chair, seated at his desk, in his office, would walk the distance on foot, in order to breathe the open air and distend his big lungs a bit.
One day, an enormous savage dog leapt out of the ditch by the side of the high road and sprang at him. Tallancourt instinctively put up his hands to save his face, and, by unheard of good luck, in so doing he seized the beast round its neck. It was useless for the dog to struggle against the powerful grip of two such fists as Tallancourt's, which throttled the dog tighter and tighter, and in about five minutes' time the brute was strangled and the giant had never even received a scratch. But during these five minutes of struggle and mortal danger Tallancourt's brain underwent a terrible strain, and five or six months later, softening of the brain set in. For a year poor Tallancourt grew visibly feebler, both morally and physically; his strength and intellect, his power of motion, and even his voice declined, and he died by inches, after eighteen months of suffering.