Nikolitch came in good time bringing a friend, a Captain Astic, and we drove off. It was a gloriously fine morning, the air cool, refreshing and brisk.
“Too much sun,” was Nikolitch’s practical comment. He looked at everything as if it affected the matter in hand, and spoke of it as though it were the most ordinary course in the world that two sane men should go out to do murder if possible.
Of my own sensations I need not say much. I was thoughtful, preoccupied indeed, and gloomy. I don’t think I was afraid; although the deliberateness of the preparations and the anticipation of having to meet a man in cold blood and fight him for my life, made the affair appear almost formidable. I was far from having a wish to do the Prince any injury, to say nothing of taking his life; and my chief thought was the impossible wish that the whole matter, quarrel and all, could have been wiped out of the record of things done and be deemed never to have occurred.
I don’t think I spoke during the drive out; but I remember taking notice of many trifles. There was a loose button in the upholstering of the carriage: some stains on Captain Astic’s uniform caught my eye, and I contrasted it with the smart grooming of Nikolitch. My friend was awkward in handling the pair of swords we had with us; and he and the other joked about it. Trifles of that kind struck me; and when the drive came to an end and we left the carriage, I can recall my distinct sensation of relief, followed by a fidgetty impatience to get the affair over.
I was irritated because the other side kept us waiting a considerable time. My seconds lit cigarettes and first picked out the best spot for the encounter; then in low tones discussed the delay and the probable reasons for it; whether the Prince was too ill to come; how long we need wait for him; and so on. They appeared to me to speak with a certain amount of disappointment, as one might regret being robbed of a promised entertainment.
The air began to chill them and they stamped about and clapped their gloved hands to keep the blood circulating. But I felt nothing of that. I sat quite still on the trunk of a fallen tree and was conscious mainly of a sort of impressive awe making everything seem unreal, mingled with a growing desire that the fight could be avoided; or rather the necessity for it obliterated—for I was perfectly aware of its inevitability.
I could not bring myself to wish to harm the man I was to meet. Once or twice I sought to rouse my anger against him by recalling the insult of the previous evening and the foulness of his words and conduct. But even while I appreciated its wantonness and inexcusable grossness, I could not stir myself to any real passion. My sense of regret for the whole business overshadowed everything.
I believe my companions thought I was suffering from fear; but it was not conscious fear, if fear at all. I did not anticipate any serious results to myself from the duel. Such a thought never occurred to me: it was the lethargy of an overwhelming revolt from the affair as a whole.
It began to grow less absorbing when I heard Captain Astic tell Nikolitch, in a tone of unmistakable relief and satisfaction, that the others were coming.
Nikolitch came and told me, and I noticed a solicitude and anxiety in his tone and look that were new.