“Place first, Monsieur?” suggested Sir Percy.
“As you will, sir,” assented Chauvelin.
He took up a dice-box which one of the gentlemen handed to him and the two men threw.
“'Tis mine, Monsieur,” said Blakeney carelessly, “mine to name the place where shall occur this historic encounter, 'twixt the busiest man in France and the most idle fop that e'er disgraced these three kingdoms.... Just for the sake of argument, sir, what place would you suggest?”
“Oh! the exact spot is immaterial, Sir Percy,” replied Chauvelin coldly, “the whole of France stands at your disposal.”
“Aye! I thought as much, but could not be quite sure of such boundless hospitality,” retorted Blakeney imperturbably.
“Do you care for the woods around Paris, sir?”
“Too far from the coast, sir. I might be sea-sick crossing over the Channel, and glad to get the business over as soon as possible.... No, not Paris, sir—rather let us say Boulogne.... Pretty little place, Boulogne... do you not think so...?”
“Undoubtedly, Sir Percy.”
“Then Boulogne it is... the ramparts, an you will, on the south side of the town.”