“Yes.”
“Well, you know, then, that every bullet has its billet. Adieu!”
He met the Baron Giordano, who handed him the pistol; he took it, and, without looking at it, went and placed himself at the spot marked by the handkerchief.
M. de Chateau Renaud had already taken up his position.
There was a moment of mournful silence, during which the young men saluted their seconds, then their adversary’s seconds, and finally each other.
M. de Chateau Renaud appeared perfectly accustomed to these affairs, and was smiling like a man sure of success; perhaps, also, he was aware that Louis de Franchi never had fired a pistol in his life.
Louis was calm and collected, his fine head looked almost like a marble bust.
“Well, gentlemen,” said Chateau Renaud, “you see we are waiting.”
Louis gave me one last glance, and smiling, raised his eyes to heaven.
“Now, gentlemen, make ready,” said Chateaugrand. Then, striking his hands one against the other, he cried—