l permit me. In an hour I shall be
at the orders of M. le Colonel's second. Where shall I find him?"

"Here," replied Livingstone. "I think no one will contest my right to
see my old friend through this quarrel."

Mohun grasped his hand. "I would have chosen you among a thousand. You
understand me, and know what I wish."

"Then I shall expect you, De Rosny," Guy went on. The Frenchman assented
courteously, and then, turning to his principal,

"Let us go," he said. "My _coupe_ is at your disposition, M. Levinge.
_Messieurs, au plaisir._"

Horace followed him with a step that was still faltering and uncertain;
but at the door he turned, and, straightening himself up, faced his
adversary with such a look as few human countenances have ever worn.
There was more in it than mortal hatred: it expressed a sort of devilish
satisfaction and anticipation, as if he knew that his revenge was
secured.

Mohun read all this as plainly as if it had been written down in so many
words; but he only smiled as he seated himself and lighted a cigar.

There was an end of lansquenet for that night. An ordinary quarrel would
have made little impression on those reckless spirits, who had, most of
them, at one time or another, "been out" themselves; but they felt that
what they had witnessed now was the prologue to a certain tragedy; there
was a savor of death in the air; so they dropped off one by one, leaving
Guy and Ralph alone; not before the latter had expressed, with much
politeness, "his desolation at having been compelled to interrupt a
_partie_, which he trusted was only deferred till the morrow."

Before long De Rosny returned. The preliminaries were soon arranged.
Pistols were necessarily to be the weapons, for Levinge had seldom
touched a foil; and, as the Frenchman said with a bow that made his
objection a compliment, "Colonel Mohun's reputation as a swordsman was
European." An early hour next morning was fixed for the _venue_, in the
Pre aux Clercs of the nineteenth century--the Bois de Boulogne.

When they were alone again Guy turned gravely to his companion. "It is a
bad business, I fear, though you could not have acted otherwise; but I
would rather your adversary were any other than Levinge. It is a
murderous, unscrupulous scoundrel as ever lived. He can shoot--that's
nothing; so can you, better than most men--but, mark me, Ralph, he has
been out twice, and hit his man each time, the last mortally; but on
neither occasio