And they parted. The vicomte returned home to， wait forthem. His agitation， only temporarily allayed， now increasedmomentarily. He felt， in arms， legs and chest， a sort oftrembling—a continuous vibration； he could not stay still，either sitting or standing. His mouth was parched， and he madeevery now and then a clicking movement of the tongue， as if todetach it from his palate.
He attempted， to take luncheon， but could not eat. Then itoccurred to him to seek courage in drink， and he sent for adecanter of rum， of which he swallowed， one after another， sixsmall glasses.
A burning warmth， followed by a deadening of the mentalfaculties， ensued. He said to himself：
“I know how to manage. Now it will be all right！”
But at the end of an hour he had emptied the decanter， andhis agitation was worse than ever. A mad longing possessedhim to throw himself on the ground， to bite， to scream. Nightfell.
A ring at the bell so unnerved him that he had not thestrength to rise to receive his seconds.
He dared not even to speak to them， wish them good-day，utter a single word， lest his changed voice should betray him.
“All is arranged as you wished，” said the colonel. “Youradversary claimed at first the privilege of the offended part；but he yielded almost at once， and accepted your conditions.
His seconds are two military men.”
“Thank you，” said the vicomte.
The marquis added：
“Please excuse us if we do not stay now， for we have a gooddeal to see to yet. We shall want a reliable doctor， since theduel is not to end until a serious wound has been inflicted；and you know that bullets are not to be trifled with. We mustselect a spot near some house to which the wounded party canbe carried if necessary. In fact， the arrangements will take usanother two or three hours at least.”
The vicomte articulated for the second time：
“Thank you.”
“You’re all right？” asked the colonel. “Quite calm？”
“Perfectly calm， thank you.”
The two men withdrew.
When he was once more alone he felt as though he should gomad. His servant having lighted the lamps， he sat down at histable to write some letters. When he had traced at the top of asheet of paper the words： “This is my last will and testament，”
he started from his seat， feeling himself incapable of connectedthought， of decision in regard to anything.
So he was going to fight！ He could no longer avoid it.
What， then， possessed him？ He wished to fight， he was fullydetermined to fight， and yet， in spite of all his mental effort， inspite of the exertion of all his will power， he felt that he couldnot even preserve the strength necessary to carry him throughthe ordeal. He tried to conjure up a picture of the duel， his ownattitude， and that of his enemy.
Every now and then his teeth chattered audibly. He thoughthe would read， and took down Chateauvillard’s Rules ofDueling. Then he said：
“Is the other man practiced in the use of the pistol？ Is hewell known？ How can I find out？”
He remembered Baron de Vaux’s book on marksmen， andsearched it from end to end. Georges Lamil was not mentioned.
And yet， if he were not an adept， would he have acceptedwithout demur such a dangerous weapon and such deadlyconditions？
He opened a case of Gastinne Renettes which stood on a smalltable， and took from it a pistol. Next he stood in the correctattitude for firing， and raised his arm. But he was trembling fromhead to foot， and the weapon shook in his grasp.
Then he said to himself：
“It is impossible. I cannot fight like this.”
He looked at the little black， death-spitting hole at the endof the pistol； he thought of dishonor， of the whispers at theclubs， the smiles in his friends’ drawing-rooms， the contemptof women， the veiled sneers of the newspapers， the insults thatwould be hurled at him by cowards.
He still looked at the weapon， and raising the hammer， sawthe glitter of the priming below it. The pistol had been leftloaded by some chance， some oversight. And the discoveryrejoiced him， he knew not why.
If he did not maintain， in presence of his opponent， thesteadfast bearing which was so necessary to his honor， hewould be ruined forever. He would be branded， stigmatized asa coward， hounded out of society！ And he felt， he knew， thathe could not maintain that calm， unmoved demeanor. And yethe was brave， since the thought that followed was not evenrounded to a finish in his mind； but， opening his mouth wide，he suddenly plunged the barrel of the pistol as far back as histhroat， and pressed the trigger.
When the valet， alarmed at the report， rushed into the roomhe found his master lying dead upon his back. A spurt of bloodhad splashed the white paper on the table， and had made agreat crimson stain beneath the words：
“This is my last will and testament.”
