“I wish they would explain clearly to me how much time I can have to take aim. I don’t want to make any mistake, and be taken for an ignoramus who doesn’t understand these affairs.”
The two opponents held their pistols aloft, the barrels point up. Moreno noticed that Pirovani’s coat was unbuttoned and carefully buttoned it. Then he turned up the Italian’s collar so that the white of his shirt could not be seen. Meanwhile, Torre Bianca was examining Canterac, who was correctly buttoned up, in military fashion, but he too needed to have his coat collar turned up. Both men, before taking their weapons, had removed their hats and given them to the seconds.
Taking a stand between them both, the marqués removed a paper from his pocket and read slowly:
“ ...Secondly, the director of the duel will clap his hands three times, whereupon the principals are to take aim and fire when they are ready, in the interval between the first and the third handclap.”
“Thirdly, if one of the two principals fires after the third handclap he will be disqualified, and declared an outlaw to the gentleman’s code.”
Pirovani, with his pistol held above him, thrust his head forward and looked toward the marqués so as to hear better, and he nodded at each word that came from Torre Bianca. Canterac remained impassive, as though listening to something that was perfectly familiar to him.
The marqués went on reading, and finally put away the sheet of paper and addressed both antagonists.
“It is my duty to ask those here present if they are able to come to terms without firing. Is it possible for you gentlemen to settle this difficulty without having recourse to the duel? Does either of you wish to offer excuses to the other?”
Pirovani violently shook his head. “No!” Canterac remained motionless. Not a line of his sombre expression softened.
The marqués spoke again, removing his hat with mournful solemnity,