“But reassure yourself,” observed Savin, lowering his rifle. “I am not an assassin. You have wounded and disgraced me, however, and I cannot let it pass; so I have a proposition to make.”
Firmin breathed more freely. Since Barrau was not going to kill him what had he to worry about? Raising his head proudly, he said: “Well, what is it?”
“They say you have been a valet de chambre in the city and know something about the polite doings of society. If that is true, you must know what a duel is. My rifle is loaded and you have ammunition. Load your weapon and we will fight.”
The challenge did not seem to frighten Firmin. Surely, he thought, Savin will not insist.
“How do you mean?” queried Firmin curiously.
“We will take position fifty paces apart, and then each may take ten steps forward before firing.”
“But that is not a duel,” said Firmin solemnly.
“Then choose a better course; but be quick about it.”
“I do not wish to fight at all,” replied the poacher.
“Indeed!” exclaimed Barrau, with an effort to contain himself.