urther. Moreover, once upon the ground, it is difficult creditably to
arrange an affair of this kind."

I bowed without replying. The ground was measured, the pistols loaded,
the men placed. The toss-up of a five-franc piece gave the first fire
to M. de Berg. His bullet grazed Oakley's cheek, but so slightly as
scarcely to draw blood. Oakley fired in return. The officer staggered,
turned half round, and fell to the ground, the bone of his right leg
broken. His second, the doctor, and I, ran forward to his assistance.
As we did so, three soldiers, who it afterwards appeared had
witnessed, from their concealment amongst the trees, the whole of the
proceedings, emerged from the shelter of the foliage, and walked
across one end of the open space where the duel had taken place,
casting curious and astonished glances in our direction. They had not
yet disappeared, when De Berg, whom we had raised into a sitting
posture, caught sight of them. He started, and uttered an exclamation
of vexation, then looked at Oakley, who had left his ground and stood
near to the wounded man.

"Do you see that?" said De Berg, hurriedly, wincing as he spoke, under
the hands of the surgeon, who by this time had cut off boot and
trousers, and was manipulating the damaged limb.

The soldiers were now again lost to view in the thick wood. It
occurred to me that two of them wore dragoon uniforms.

Oakley bowed his head assentingly.

"You had better be off, and instantly," said the lieutenant. "Go to
England or Germany. You have leave for a week. I will procure you a
prolongation; but be off at once, and get away from Paris. Those
fellows have recognised us, and will not be prevented talking."

He spoke in broken sentences, and with visible effort, for the surgeon
was all the while poking and probing at the leg in a most
uncomfortable manner, and De Berg was pale from pain and loss of
blood. Oakley looked on with an expression of regret, and showed no
disposition to the hasty flight recommended him.

"Well, doctor," said the officer, with a painful smile, "my dancing is
spoilt, eh?"

"_Bagatelle!_" replied the man of lancets. "Clean fracture, neat
wound, well as ever in a month. Your blood's too hot, _mon
lieutenant_; you'll be all the better for losing a little of it."

"There, there," said De Berg kindly to Oakley, "no harm done, you
see--to me at least. I should be sorry that any ensued to you. Away
with you at once. Take him away, sir,"