No message came for two days, that interval having elapsed in consequence of a deadly quarrel between the marquis and the general as to who should take the thing up first. Grape firmly believes they decided the matter with small swords; another version is, that they played piquet for eight-and-forty hours to settle it--the best out of so many games. Be this how it may, the general appeared as the ostensible champion, and the marquis officiated as his _temoin_. Grape, as my uncle's second, chose pistols for the weapons, and selected a retired piece of ground in a large garden near the chateau as the lists. I give the conclusion in his own words:-- "Horsingham was as cool as a cucumber, and the only thing that seemed to annoy him was a possibility that the cause of his _rencontre_ might be misrepresented to her he loved at home. "'Tell her I was faithful to the last,' said he to me as he squeezed my hand just before _I put him up_. 'Tell her, if I fall, that I never loved another; that my heart is pure and spotless as that white rose, which I will wear upon it for her sake.' "While he spoke, he plucked a white rose from a neighbouring bush, and in spite of my remonstrances fixed it in the breast of his close-fitting dark coat. "'What are you about, Charlie?' I urged. 'This is no time for romance. Don't you know all these cursed Frenchmen are dead shots? You might as well chalk out a bull's eye over the pit of your stomach!' "He was a romantic, foolish fellow. I can see him now, drawing himself up, and looking like a knight of the olden time, with his brightening eye, and his smooth, unruffled forehead." "'Give her the white rose,' he only said. 'She'll keep it when it's withered, perhaps. And tell her I never wavered--never for an hour!'"