“Because in England no gentleman would throw a plate at the head of another gentleman.” “My lord,” said Roland, rising with a frown, “have you perchance come here to read me a lecture?” “Oh, no; I came to suggest that you are perhaps perplexed about finding a second?” “My faith, Sir John! I admit that the moment when you knocked at the door I was wondering of whom I could ask this service.” “Of me, if you wish,” said the Englishman. “I will be your second.” “On my honor!” exclaimed Roland, “I accept with all my heart.” “That is the service I wished to render you!” Roland held out his hand, saying: “Thank you!” The Englishman bowed. “Now,” continued Roland, “as you have had the good taste, my lord, to tell me who you were before offering your services, it is but fair that, since I accept them, I should tell you who I am.” “Oh! as you please.” “My name is Louis de Montrevel; I am aide-de-camp to General Bonaparte.” “Aide-de-camp to General Bonaparte. I am very glad.” “That will explain why I undertook, rather too warmly perhaps, my general’s defence.” “No, not too warmly; only, the plate--” “Oh, I know well that the provocation did not entail that plate. But what would you have me do! I held it in my hand, and, not knowing what to do with it, I threw it at M. de Barjols’ head; it went of itself without any will of mine.” “You will not say that to him?” “Reassure yourself; I tell you to salve your conscience.” “Very well; then you will fight?” “That is why I have remained here, at any rate.” “What weapons?” “That is not our affair, my lord.” “What! not our affair?” “No; M. de Barjols is the one insulted; the choice is his.” “Then you will accept whatever he proposes?” “Not I, Sir John, but you in my name, since you do me the honor to act as my second.” “And if he selects pistols, what is the distance to be and how will you fight?” “That is your affair, my lord, and not mine. I don’t know how you do in England, but in France the principals take no part in the arrangements. That duty devolves upon the seconds; what they decide is well decided!” “Then my arrangements will be satisfactory?” “Perfectly so, my lord.” The Englishman bowed. “What hour and what day?” “Oh! as soon as possible; I have not seen my family for two years, and I confess that I am in a hurry to greet them.” The Englishman looked at Roland with a certain wonder; he spoke with such assurance, as if he were certain that he would not be killed. Just then some one knocked at the door, and the voice of the innkeeper asked: “May I come in?” The young man replied affirmatively. The door opened and the landlord entered, holding a card in his hand which he handed his guest. The young man took the card and read: “Charles du Valensolle.” “From M. Alfred de Barjols,” said the host.