“Very well!” exclaimed Roland. Then handing the card to the Englishman, he said: “Here, this concerns you; it is unnecessary for me to see this monsieur--since we are no longer citizens--M. de Valensolle is M. de Barjols’ second; you are mine. Arrange this affair between you. Only,” added the young man, pressing the Englishman’s hand and looking fixedly at him, “see that it holds a chance of certain death for one of us. Otherwise I shall complain that it has been bungled.” “Don’t worry,” said the Englishman, “I will act for you as for myself.” “Excellent! Go now, and when everything is arranged come back. I shall not stir from here.” Sir John followed the innkeeper. Roland reseated himself, twirled his chair back to its former position facing the table, took up his pen and began to write. When Sir John returned, Roland had written and sealed two letters and was addressing a third. He signed to the Englishman to wait until he had finished, that he might give him his full attention. Then, the address finished, he sealed the letter, and turned around. “Well,” he asked, “is everything arranged?” “Yes,” said the Englishman, “it was an easy matter. You are dealing with a true gentleman.” “So much the better!” exclaimed Roland, waiting. “You will fight two hours hence by the fountain of Vaucluse--a charming spot--with pistols, advancing to each other, each to fire as he pleases and continuing to advance after his adversary’s fire.” “By my faith! you are right, Sir John. That is, indeed, excellent. Did you arrange that?” “I and M. de Barjols’ second, your adversary having renounced his rights of the insulted party.” “Have you decided upon the weapons?” “I offered my pistols. They were accepted on my word of honor that you were as unfamiliar with them as was M. de Barjols. They are excellent weapons. I can cut a bullet on a knife blade at twenty paces.” “Peste! You are a good shot, it would seem, my lord.” “Yes, I am said to be the best shot in England.” “That is a good thing to know. When I wish to be killed, Sir John, I’ll pick a quarrel with you.” “Oh! don’t pick a quarrel with me,” said the Englishman, “it would grieve me too much to have to fight you.” “We will try, my lord, not to cause you such grief. So it is settled then, in two hours.” “Yes, you told me you were in a hurry.” “Precisely. How far is it to this charming spot?” “From here to Vaucluse?” “Yes.” “Twelve miles.” “A matter of an hour and a half. We have no time to lose, so let us rid ourselves of troublesome things in order to have nothing but pleasure before us.” The Englishman looked at the young man in astonishment. Roland did not seem to pay any attention to this look. “Here are three letters,” said he; “one for Madame de Montrevel, my mother; one for Mlle. de Montrevel, my sister; one for the citizen, Bonaparte, my general. If I am killed you will simply put them in the post. Will that be too much trouble?”