“No, nothing,” said he; but from that moment he began to doubt them; he began to suspect they were saving themselves and not playing fair. “Well and good!” thought he then; “what do I care if they funk? I’ll show them that I’ve got more pluck than they have.” Then, looking George straight in the eyes: “Tell Ghéri he can count on me.” “Then you’ll sign?” Oh! there was no need now--he had given his word. He said simply: “As you please.” And, in a large painstaking hand, he inscribed his name on the accursed paper, underneath the signatures of the three Strong Men. George brought the paper back in triumph to the two others. They agreed that Boris had behaved very pluckily. They took counsel together. Of course, the pistol wouldn’t be loaded! For that matter there were no cartridges. Phiphi still had fears, because he had heard it said that sometimes a too violent emotion is sufficient in itself to cause death. His father, he declared, knew of a case when a pretence execution.... But George shut him up: “Your father’s a dago!” No, Ghéridanisol would not load the pistol. There was no need to. The cartridge which La Pérouse had one day put into it, La Pérouse had not taken out. This is what Ghéridanisol had made sure of, though he took good care not to tell the others. They put the names in a hat; four little pieces of paper all alike, and folded in the same manner. Ghéridanisol, who was “to draw,” had taken care to write Boris’s name a second time on a fifth, which he kept in his hand; and, as though by chance, his was the name to come out. Boris suspected they were cheating; but he said nothing. What was the use of protesting? He knew that he was lost. He would not have lifted a finger to defend himself; and even if the lot had fallen on one of the others, he would have offered to take his place--so great was his despair. “Poor old boy! you’ve no luck,” George thought it his duty to say. The tone of his voice rang so false, that Boris looked at him sadly. “It was bound to happen,” he said. After that, it was agreed there should be a rehearsal. But as there was a risk of being caught, they settled not to make use of the pistol. They would only take it out of its case at the last moment, for the _real_ performance. Every care must be taken not to give the alarm. On that day, therefore, they contented themselves with fixing the hour, and the place, which they marked on the floor with a bit of chalk. It was in the class-room, on the right hand of the master’s desk, in a recess, formed by a disused door, which had formerly opened on to the entrance hall. As for the hour, it was to be during preparation. It was to take place in front of all the other boys; it would make them sit up.