"Yes."
"Well, I sent him a challenge to-day, and he answered that I must find a deputy."
Pariset sat dumfounded. Twice he essayed to articulate, without producing so much as a mono-syllable.
At last he stuttered:
"You are mademoiselle Suzanne Duvivier? I had no idea."
"How stupid of me. You have read his article?"
"Well—er—I have still not had time to read it very attentively. But I have heard a good deal about it."
"Ah! Then you do not wonder at my resentment?" she cried. And, though the twins forbade her to jeopardise his life, she hoped to hear him gallantly offer to fight monsieur Vance.
This was just what Pariset could not do. After his boasted avidity to execute the service, he must wear an air of funking it. His embarrassment was intense; constraint fell upon them both. Disillusion clouded her eyes. She had begun to like him so much, it grieved her to see him turn tail.
After some very painful seconds he faltered: