"Then, monsieur, I have the honour to inform you that we are the bearers of a challenge from the lady you have slandered."
"A challenge?" stammered Pariset. "What do you say? Is this a joke?"
"You will find it very far from a joke," put in mademoiselle Lagarde, strategically; "our principal is a crack shot."
"In that case you may be sure I shall not choose pistols," said Pariset with a smile.
"Ah!" breathed the girl, dissembling her elation. "You choose swords. No matter."
"No," demurred Pariset. "I do not choose swords, either."
"But—not swords, either? What, then?"
"I choose roses. I am a champion with roses, and I have the right to avail myself of my skill."
"Monsieur," cried her companion, peremptorily, "we shall not be patient with pleasantries!"
"Nor I with hysteria, mademoiselle. Comment? Do you figure yourself I am going to fight a woman? You must be demented."