“Yes, yes,” exclaimed several voices together; “Carrier says truly. The affair is his. We fight with the sabre, citizen, in the Chasseurs-à-Cheval. Is the weapon to your liking?”
“One arm is the same to me as another,” replied I; and unfortunately this was too literally the case, since I was equally inexpert in all!
“You can claim the pistol, if you wish it,” whispered an old captain, with a snow-white moustache. “The challenged chooses his weapons.”
“The sabre be it, then,” exclaimed Carrier, catching me up at once.
“Not if the citizen prefer the pistol,” interposed the captain.
“He has already made his choice: he said all weapons were alike to him.”
“Quite true,” said I; “I did say so!”
“The greater fool you, then!” murmured the captain, between his teeth. “You might just as well have given yourself your chance. Carrier won't be so generous to you!”
“Will you be my second?” asked I of him.
“Ma foi! if you wish it,” said he, with a shrug of the shoulders and a glance of such tender pity that could not be mistaken. “Let us follow them!”