de Berg’s second stepped forward, and I advanced to meet him. I was particularly pleased with the appearance of Oakley’s antagonist. He was a young man of six or seven and twenty, of very dark complexion, flashing black eyes, and a countenance expressive of daring resolution and a fiery temperament. I should have taken him for an Italian, and I afterwards learned that he was a native of Provence, born within a stone’s-throw of Italy. I never saw an ardent and enthusiastic character more strongly indicated by physiognomy, than in the case of this young officer; and I began to understand and explain to myself the feelings that had impelled him to challenge the man preferred by the mistress of his choice, even although that man’s position was such as, in the eyes of society, forbade the encounter. More as a matter of duty than with expectation of success, I asked De Berg’s second if there were no chance of this meeting terminating peaceably. He shook his head with a decided gesture. “Impossible,” he said. “I am ignorant of the cause of quarrel: I know not even your principal’s name. My friend, who may possibly be equally unknown to you, has asked my assistance, pledging himself that the duel is a just and honourable one, which cannot be avoided, but whose motive he has reasons to conceal even from me. Satisfied with this assurance, reposing implicit confidence in his word, I inquire no further. 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 below the knee. 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 his 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.