"Well, I _must_ use the pistol," replied the journalist significantly. "You mean you are going to fight?" "Yes, to-morrow, with De Beauvallon." Dumas looked grave. "Your adversary is a very good swordsman," he said. "You had better choose swords. When De Beauvallon sees how you handle the weapon, the duel will be at an end." He told Dujarier that Alexandre, junior, practised at the same fencing-class as De Beauvallon, and he strongly urged him to reconsider the choice of weapons. But the journalist was obstinate. He had no confidence in his opponent's clemency, and he feared his skill with the rapier. With the pistol there was always a chance; with cold steel he was bound to be killed. In vain Dumas argued that the sword could spare, while the pistol could slay, even if the trigger were pulled by the least experienced hand. Dujarier dined with father and son. The friends parted at nine in the evening. The journalist, in company with Bertrand, went to a shooting gallery, where he tried his hand at the pistol. He hit a figure as large as a man only twice in twenty shots! Dumas strolled into the Varietes. He was ill at ease. Finally he took a cab and drove to the Rue Laffitte. He found Dujarier seated at his bureau, writing his will, as it afterwards proved. Dumas returned to the question of weapons. Dujarier showed a disposition to avoid the whole subject. "You are only losing your time," he said, "and that is valuable. I don't want you to arrange this affair, mind. It is my first duel. It is astonishing that I have not had one before. It's a sort of baptism that I must undergo." His friend questioned him as to the cause of the proposed encounter. "Lord knows!" was the reply, "I can recollect no particular reason. I don't know what I am fighting about. It's a duel between the _Globe_ and _La Presse_," he added, "not between Monsieur Dujarier and Monsieur de Beauvallon."