His politeness was ironical. The man appeared to be his conceited and condescending self, cynically amused, and not in the least flurried.
Jasper rolled out of the saddle and fastened Devil Dick to a tree. The vague sense of apprehension had left him. He felt hard, and grim, and steady now that he and De Rothan were face to face.
"I am at your service, Chevalier."
"I am charmed, sir. Please choose your weapon. It is immaterial to me whether we fight with sword or pistol."
He swaggered finely, throwing off an air of aristocratic nonchalance.
"I prefer cold steel."
"Excellent, Mr. Benham, excellent. You have given me my own desire. Let it be cold steel. I would rather kill my man with a sword than with a pistol."
He went to the oak-tree, picked up his sword, and came back to Jasper with the most condescending of smiles.
"I see no reason why we should delay, Mr. Benham."
"None at all."