"Very good; listen—perhaps it can be arranged to suit you: if the count kills me, you must tell Madame Plays that you did it."
"Oh! the idea! Poor Albert! I should be so distressed! Are you really going to fight?"
"Most certainly I am. By the way, as you are on the spot, you must be my second; for I shall not have time to send for anybody else."
"Your second!"
"You don't mean to refuse, I trust?"
"You see, my dear fellow, if you should be wounded, I should be ill, I know."
"Nonsense! you must overcome such weaknesses as that; you shall be my second, and I'll lend you five hundred francs to redeem your olive; and I give you leave to tell Madame Plays that you have beaten me, wounded me, killed me—whatever you choose."
"I haven't the heart to refuse. I will sacrifice myself and be your second. Shall we breakfast?"
"I think not; but afterward, if I am the victor, there'll be nothing to prevent."
While they were talking, Albert had dressed; he took his box of pistols, sent for a cab, and entered it with Tobie, who was very pale and agitated. As they passed the Café de Paris, on the boulevard, Albert cried: