He was still writing, and his hair was in disorder, and his face pale when he turned towards me. 'I am no coward,' he said, 'but I am saying good-bye to her, for I shall die to-morrow.'
'My dear fellow,' I exclaimed, 'you will shoot Laroquière, and be married next month. You must finish your writing at once and go to bed. I will sleep here to-night, for I must see that you turn out in time to-morrow morning; so be as quick as possible.'
He wrote for another half-hour, addressed the document to Alice Rae, placed a lock of his hair within it, and after sealing it up, gave it to me.
'Give that to her,' he said, 'if Laroquière kills me outright—and I know he will. If it were not for Alice, I declare that I should be quite glad to meet him. Now for bed.'
He undressed; whilst I lay down on the sofa in the next room and lit a cigar, for I could not afford to sleep myself. Soon all was quiet, and I stole in to see Paul lying as quiet as a child with a smile on his face. Probably, nay assuredly, I passed a more uncomfortable night than he did. Only with the greatest possible difficulty could I keep awake; and the hours seemed to linger for ever. At last, however, daylight dawned, and I called Ferrand, who woke refreshed and in comparatively good spirits. After a hurried breakfast we muffled ourselves up; I placed a flask of brandy, some powder and bullets, and a brace of pistols in my pockets, and we sallied forth in the cold morning air. Scarcely any one was abroad, except a few sleepy watchmen, who seemed to make very shrewd guesses at the object of our expedition; and through the silent streets we went for a mile or so, until we reached the meeting-place.
Laroquière and Delaraie were there before us, and my friend the surgeon arrived immediately afterwards in his carriage, which waited near at hand. The pistols were produced and loaded. Laroquière chose one, and I gave the other to Paul; and then the two men took up positions at a distance of twenty paces from each other, and waited for Delaraie to give the signal to fire.
'Stay!' cried the bully, as his second stepped back; 'let the young hound listen to this. I am not trifling with him: I shall shoot him only where he wishes, for I am generous, parbleu!'
'If I do not kill you,' said Paul quietly, 'I prefer to die.'
'Then I shoot him through the heart,' coolly observed Laroquière. 'It will teach others not to challenge me.'
There was something to me unspeakably horrible in the way in which these last words were pronounced. I shuddered, and looked at Paul. He smiled at me, and at the same instant Delaraie gave the signal.