"Here. Agreed?"
He nodded his head and began to unbutton his coat, so as to take it off before the duel.
"Choose!" said I, pointing to the pistols and the sabre.
He pointed to a sabre which he had with him: it was Turkish, a Damascus blade, much curved toward the point.
Meanwhile I threw off my coat; he followed my example, but first he took a letter from his pocket and said,—
"If I die, I beg to give this to Panna Hania."
"I will not receive it."
"This is not a confession; it is an explanation."
"Agreed! I will take it."
Thus speaking, we rolled up our shirt-sleeves. Only now did my heart begin to beat more vigorously. At last Selim seized the hilt of his sabre, straightened himself, took the position of a fencer, challenging, proud, and holding the sabre higher than his head, said briefly,—