This one, no doubt, was the baron. To be frank, he looked a brute, and I had very little hesitation in assuming that the merits of the quarrel must be on my side. I was comforted by this conclusion, as I had no desire to shoot an unoffending person. Preliminaries were soon concluded. I overheard one of the baron's representatives mention the word apology, and add that they would meet us halfway, but Dumergue shook his head decisively. This defiant attitude became Dumergue very well; but I, for my part, should have been open to reason. The baron and I were placed opposite one another at twelve paces. There were to be two shots--unless, of course, one of us were disabled at the first fire; after that, the seconds were to consider whether the matter need go further. The word was just about to be given, when to my surprise the baron cried: "Stop!" Everyone looked at him in astonishment. "Before we fire," he went on, "I wish to ask this gentleman one question. No--I will not be stopped!" His seconds, who had advanced, fell back before his resolute gesture, and he continued, addressing me: "Sir, will you do me the honor to answer one question? Are you the person who accompanied----" Vooght struck in quickly: "No names, please!" The baron bowed, and began again. "On your honor, sir, are you the gentleman who accompanied the lady in question to the masked ball on the night in question?" These gentlemen were all diplomatic. I thought I would be diplomatic too. "Surely this is grossly irregular?" I said, appealing to my supporters. "I ask for an answer," said the baron. "It's nothing but a new insult," said I. "I have my reasons, and those gentlemen know them." This was intolerable. "You mean to fight, or you don't, M. le Baron," said I. "Which is it?" He shrugged his shoulders. "Your master is well served," he said with a sneer. His seconds looked bewildered: Vooght bit his nails, and Dumergue swore furiously, and, coming near me, whispered in my ear: "Shoot straight! Stop his cursed mouth for him!" I had not the least intention of killing the baron, if I could avoid it without being killed myself; but I thought a slight lesson would improve his manners, and, when the word came, I fired with a careful aim. He evidently meant mischief, for I heard his ball whiz past my ear; I missed him clean, being much out of practice, and, I dare say, rather nervous. I pulled myself together for the second shot, for I saw that my opponent was not to be trifled with, and I should not have been the least surprised to find myself in paradise the next moment. On the word I fired; the baron fell back with a cry, and simultaneously I felt a tingle in my left hand, and the unmistakable warm ooze of blood. The witnesses ran to my opponent, and raised his head. Dumergue turned round to me: "Are you hurt?" "A scratch," I answered, for I found the ball had run up my arm, merely grazing me in its passage.