hat the meeting should be
arranged for at his elder brother's country place where the family stayed
very seldom. There was a most convenient walled garden there. And then
Monsieur George caught his train promising to be back on the fourth day
and leaving all further arrangements to his friend. He prided himself on
his impenetrability before Dona Rita; on the happiness without a shadow
of those four days. However, Dona Rita must have had the intuition of
there being something in the wind, because on the evening of the very
same day on which he left her again on some pretence or other, she was
already ensconced in the house in the street of the Consuls, with the
trustworthy Rose scouting all over the town to gain information.

Of the proceedings in the walled garden there is no need to speak in
detail. They were conventionally correct, but an earnestness of purpose
which could be felt in the very air lifted the business above the common
run of affairs of honour. One bit of byplay unnoticed by the seconds,
very busy for the moment with their arrangements, must be mentioned.
Disregarding the severe rules of conduct in such cases Monsieur George
approached his adversary and addressed him directly.

"Captain Blunt," he said, "the result of this meeting may go against me.
In that case you will recognize publicly that you were wrong. For you
are wrong and you know it. May I trust your honour?"

In answer to that appeal Captain Blunt, always correct, didn't open his
lips but only made a little bow. For the rest he was perfectly ruthless.
If he was utterly incapable of being carried away by love there was
nothing equivocal about his jealousy. Such psychology is not very rare
and really from the point of view of the combat itself one cannot very
well blame him. What happened was this. Monsieur George fired on the
word and, whether luck or skill, managed to hit Captain Blunt in the
upper part of the arm which was holding the pistol. That gentleman's arm
dropped powerless by his side. But he did not drop his weapon. There
was nothing equivocal about his determination. With the greatest
deliberation he reached with his left hand for his pistol and taking
careful aim shot Monsieur George through the left side of his breast.
One may imagine the consternation of the four seconds and the activity of
the two surgeons in the confined, drowsy heat of that walled garden. It
was within an easy drive of the town and as Monsie