“Don’t be alarmed,” I said to him; “seconds rarely fight; if, however, I should fall, and you should choose to avenge me, it will be in your power.”
“I, my dear friend! I do not need to tell you how fond I am of you; and certainly—I wish the affair might be settled amicably. Friends ought not to fall out!—Monsieur de Witcheritche, we ought not to allow these gentlemen to fight.”
The baron seemed much more deeply interested in something that he had in his pocket than in our combat, and to no purpose did Vauvert, with tears in his eyes, strive frantically to make him understand that it was their duty to reconcile Raymond and myself. But my neighbor was obstinate.
“I intend to fight,” he said; “nobody shall insult me with impunity! I have seen Monsieur Gerville, and I know that he did not dine with you and Agathe; I need say no more! And my silhouette on the wall—that was a betrayal of confidence! You must give me satisfaction, Monsieur Dorsan; this affair will make a sensation.”
“Oh! bless my soul, neighbor, I am at your service! Let us get through with it, for it is going to rain, and I shall be distressed to have these gentlemen get wet, and especially madame la baronne, who is under the trees.”
“I am the insulted party; I have the choice of weapons.”
“That is true.”
“I am very skilful with the sword; I have taken lessons from the most expert teacher in Paris; but I will not fight with anything but pistols, because I don’t wish to make an unfair use of my advantages.”
“That is very generous on your part; I divined your purpose and brought some pistols along.”
As I spoke, I took mine from my pocket; I saw that Raymond was disturbed and changed color; then he produced a pair of great holster pistols and showed them to me.