Savin, walking along the river bank in the thick underbrush, was a prey to bitter reflections. The cold, cheerless day did not tend to lighten his mood. He felt that his whole life was a failure. “Happiness is but a chimera,” he said, “a myth to dream about, but not to realize.” Suddenly a gunshot echoed through the ravine from rock to rock. A ball whizzed past his ear. He raised his rifle and garrisoned himself behind a rock. But at that moment a cunning little doe, wounded and bleeding, fell at his feet with a moan. There was a crackling of leaves. A well-directioned jump landed a man near his victim, which after a spasm or two was dead. “So it is that rascal,” muttered Savin as he stood gazing at Firmin, who stooped to pick up his game. “You seem to own everything about this region,” Savin said ironically. Firmin, surprised at the gamekeeper’s presence, made a backward leap. “It’s no use. You may as well surrender,” added Savin sternly. Firmin was about to make a break for the woods, when Savin raised his rifle. “If you take two more steps you are a dead man,” he coolly warned. Firmin stopped. “Perhaps you do not know,” continued Savin, “that it is a grave offence to kill the females.” “Well, make your complaint,” growled Firmin. Savin took a step forward, grasped the poacher by the collar, and went on: “To speak candidly, I have more to complain of than the mere loss of a doe. For more than three months now, thanks to your impudence and vanity, I have been deprived of contentment. You have been the cause of my misfortune.” “Who says so?” “I do, and my word has never been doubted.” “Well, what do you want?” asked Firmin, who, as we know, was not a lion in the way of courage. “We are alone, entirely alone,” pursued Barrau, with awful complacence, “and we will settle this matter right here. You have been paying court to my wife.” “I?” “You would deny it? You are afraid I will kill you, eh? Well, you have reason to fear. Who will prevent me if I wish to do so? You have been caught poaching--and I am a gamekeeper. There is the proof of your guilt,” pointing to the doe. “And I should only have to accuse you of having fired at me. Self-defence would be my plea. What judge would hesitate to acquit me--to congratulate me?” While speaking Savin held his rifle in readiness. Pale and trembling, Firmin looked about as though invoking aid. “But reassure yourself,” observed Savin, lowering his rifle. “I am not an assassin. You have wounded and disgraced me, however, and I cannot let it pass; so I have a proposition to make.” Firmin breathed more freely. Since Barrau was not going to kill him what had he to worry about? Raising his head proudly, he said: “Well, what is it?” “They say you have been a _valet de chambre_ in the city and know something about the polite doings of society. If that is true, you must know what a duel is. My rifle is loaded and you have ammunition. Load your weapon and we will fight.”