Seeing him determined both to fight and to choose fire-arms, Dumas recommended him at least not to use the hair-trigger pistol. To the novelist's astonishment, Dujarier admitted he did not know the difference between one kind of pistol and another. Alexandre said he would show him, and drove off to his house for the purpose. As he descended the stairs, he passed Lola, who noticed his agitation. Dujarier was again writing when she entered his room. He was very pale. Dissimulating his preoccupation, he invited his mistress to read a flattering notice on her performance from the pen of Monsieur de Boigne. But Lola was not to be thus diverted from her purpose. She implored her lover to tell her more about the proposed encounter, to reveal the cause of his evident anxiety. He merely replied that he was extremely busy, that there was nothing to worry about. He insisted on her returning to her own apartments. "I'll come and see you to-morrow," he promised, "and, Lola!--if--if I should leave Paris for any reason, I don't want you to lose sight of my friends. Promise that. They are good sorts." He almost forced Lola out of the house, only to admit Dumas a few minutes later. The novelist had brought a brand-new pair of pistols. "Use these," he said; "I'll give you a written statement that they have not been used before. That ought to satisfy the seconds." Dujarier shook his head. "Look here," said Dumas solemnly, "your luck has endured a long time. Take care that it does not fail you now." His friend's well-meant pertinacity irritated the journalist. He replied brusquely: "What would you? Do you want me to pass for a coward? If I don't accept this challenge, I shall have others. De Beauvallon is determined to fasten a quarrel on me. One of his seconds told me so. He said my face displeased him. However, this affair over, I shall be left in peace." It was one o'clock in the morning. Dumas, having exhausted all the resources of argument and persuasion, rose to depart. "At least," he counselled his friend, "don't fight till two in the afternoon. It is no use getting up early for so unpleasant an affair. Besides, I know you. You are always at your worst--nervous and fidgety--between ten and eleven." "You know that," said Dujarier eagerly, "you won't think it fear? And, Dumas," ... he went to his desk, and wrote a cheque on Laffitte's for a thousand crowns. "I owe you this. Now this is drawn on my private account, and as the duel takes place at eleven, go there before eleven, for you don't know what may happen. Go there _before eleven_, for after that my credit may be dead. I beg of you, go before eleven."