We bowed and parted. Dalrymple was already gone, and De Caylus, still white and trembling with rage, was wiping the wine from his face and shirt. The crowd opened for me right and left as I went through the salon, and more than one voice whispered:--
"He is the Englishman's second."
I took my hat and cloak mechanically, and let myself out. It was broad daylight, and the blinding sun poured full upon my eyes as I passed into the street.
"Come, Damon," said Dalrymple, crossing over to me from the opposite side of the way. "I have just caught a cab--there it is, waiting round the corner! We've no time to lose, I'll be bound."
"We are to meet them at Bellevue at ten," I replied.
"At ten? Hurrah! then I've still five certain hours of life before me! Long enough, Damon, to do a world of mischief, if one were so disposed!"
CHAPTER L.
THE DUEL AT BELLEVUE.
We drove straight to Dalrymple's rooms, and, going in with a pass-key, went up without disturbing the concierge. Arrived at home, my friend's first act was to open his buffetier and take out a loaf, a paté de foie gras, and a bottle of wine. I could not eat a morsel; but he supped (or breakfasted) with a capital appetite; insisted that I should lie down on his bed for two or three hours; and slipping into his dressing-gown, took out his desk and cash-box, and settled himself to a regular morning's work.