“And about weapons?”
“You are ze person insulte, and you have ze choice. Le sword, of course?” cried Leronde; and, throwing himself on guard, he foiled, parried, and hopped about the studio, as if he were encountering an enemy.
“Sit down, man,” said Armstrong peevishly. “No; I choose the pistol.”
“My friend! Oh!”
“It is shorter and sharper.”
“But you do not vant to shoot ze man for stealing—fence like angels, and there will be a little gentlemanly play; you prick ze Conte in ze arm, honneur is satisfy, you embrace, and we return to Paris. What can be better than that?”
“Pistol!” said Armstrong sternly.
“But you do not want to shoot ze man for stealing away his vife.”
“No,” said Armstrong, in a low voice. “I want him to shoot me.”
“Ha, ha! You are a fonnay fellow, my dear Dale. You will not talk like zat when you meet ze sword?”