He did not ring, but made a fire. His hands trembled a little from a nervous shiver when they came in contact with any object. His mind wandered; his thoughts from trouble became frightened, hasty, and sorrowful; an intoxication seemed to invade his mind as if he were drunk. And without ceasing he asked: “What am I going to do? What is going to become of me?” His whole body was vibrating, traversed by a jerking and a trembling; he got up and approached the window, opening the curtains. The day had dawned, a summer day. A rose-colored sky made the city rosy on roof and wall. A great fall of spread out light, like a caress from the rising sun, enveloped the waking world; and, with this light, a gay, rapid, brutal hope invaded the heart of the Viscount! He was a fool to allow himself to be thus cast down by fear, even before anything was decided, before his witnesses had seen those of this George Lamil, before he yet knew whether he were going to fight a duel. He made his toilette, dressed himself, and walked out with firm step. He repeated constantly, in walking: “It will be necessary for me to be energetic, very energetic. I must prove that I am not afraid.” His witnesses, the Marquis and the Colonel, placed themselves at his disposal and, after having shaken hands with him energetically, discussed the conditions. The Colonel asked: “Do you wish it to be a serious duel?” The Viscount responded: “Very serious.” The Marquis continued: “Will you use a pistol?” “Yes.” “We leave you free to regulate the rest.” The Viscount enunciated, in a dry, jerky voice: “Twenty steps at the order, and on raising the arm instead of lowering it. Exchange of bullets until one is grievously wounded.” The Colonel declared, in a satisfied tone: “These are excellent conditions. You shoot well, all the chances are in your favor.” They separated. The Viscount returned home to wait for them. His agitation, appeased, for a moment, grew now from minute to minute. He felt along his arms, his legs, and in his breast a kind of trembling, of continued vibration; he could not keep still, either sitting or standing. There was no longer an appearance of saliva in his mouth, and each instant he made a noisy movement with his tongue, as if to unglue it from the roof of his mouth. He wished to breakfast but he could not eat. Then the idea came to him of drinking to give himself courage and he brought out a small bottle of rum, which he swallowed in six little glasses, one after the other. A heat, like that of a burning fire, invaded him, followed almost immediately by a numbness of the soul. He thought: “I have found the remedy. Now all goes well.” But at the end of an hour, he had emptied the bottle and his state of agitation became intolerable. He felt a foolish impulse to roll on the ground, to cry out and bite. Then night fell.