Why did he offer me such an exorbitant price? I had so reviled myself, I felt so ignoble and debased, that I could not believe a word of what he said about the sympathy he felt for me. Had he not told me that, by a delicate sense, he had always been able to select the choice souls for whom he felt an affinity? How, then, should such a generous nature feel any attraction towards me, so unworthy, so incapable of inspiring affection? What interest had he to feign this exaggerated affinity? His name is much more illustrious than mine, his fortune is enormous, his position is of the highest. It is not vanity, then, that draws him towards me. His courage is well known, he needs no one to defend him. His mind is lively and original, and for years he has lived alone. He does not want me to amuse him by my conversation. I was a long time, I admit, trying to discover what was Lord Falmouth's motive. Suddenly, by dint of plunging into the abyss of hideous instincts, an infernal idea came into my mind. I had a moment of execrable triumph: I had guessed it. I thought all could be explained, all could be understood by this abominable interpretation. I was seized with a horrible vertigo. CHAPTER III THE DUEL I wrote the following hasty lines in answer to Lord Falmouth's admirable letter. I rang the bell and sent him the note.[4] Just as it has always happened, no sooner was the letter gone than I came to my senses, and when I was able to think of the infamous outrage I had committed, I was overcome with horror. What if I were mistaken? I would have given my very life to have been able to recall those dreadful lines. It was too late. My cabin was only separated from Lord Falmouth's by a slight partition. Seized by the most frightful anxiety, I listened. When the servant who had taken my letter to Falmouth closed the door, there was a dead silence. Then suddenly an impetuous movement upset a chair, and I heard Falmouth start towards the door with heavy and uncertain steps, for he could scarcely walk as yet. He was coming. My heart beat as though it was going to break. His heavy steps came nearer. I felt that I was breaking into a cold perspiration. I was afraid! My door was suddenly opened. He entered holding himself up on his cane. In all my life--no, never in all my life shall I forget the look of fiery rage that gleamed in his eyes. His face was like a marble mask lit up by two blazing eyeballs. "Defend yourself!" cried he, in a voice that shook with indignation, and holding out my letter in his hand; "where is your weapon?" A frightful remorse seized me, so violent was it that a cowardly retraction of my infamy was on my lips. "Henry!" said I, in despair, pointing to my letter, "pardon!" "Pardon! You don't mean to fight?" cried Falmouth, in a fury. The blood rushed to my face, the shame of being thought a coward exasperated me, and I answered, "Monsieur, I will fight with whatever weapon you choose."