At last the day came, and at six o’clock Ernest was at my house. I took my pistols; a cab was below, and I told the driver to go to Vincennes.
I did not say a word during the drive. Just as we arrived, Ernest said to me:
“If you should fall, my friend, have you nothing to say, no orders to give?”
“No, my dear Ernest, for except you and your wife, no one really cares for me. My son is not old enough to understand the loss he would sustain. My daughter—she would cry perhaps, and that is why nothing must be said to her. Poor child! I do not want to make her shed a tear.”
We arrived, and I saw two men walking to and fro a few gun shots from the château; they were Dulac and his second. We hurried toward them and joined them; they bowed to us; I did not respond to the salute, but strode on toward the woods.
I did not know Dulac’s second; he was not one of our circle; so much the better. I do not know what Dulac had said to him, but I am convinced that he was not deceived as to the motive which had caused me to pick a quarrel with him the night before.
We stopped; the seconds gave us the weapons after examining them; then they measured off the distance.
“Fire, monsieur,” I said to Dulac; “I am the aggressor.”
“No, monsieur,” he replied coldly; “it is for you to fire first, you are the insulted party.”
I did not wait for him to say it again; I fired and missed him. It was his turn; he hesitated.