With one of these individuals, an elderly man in a seedy military undress, and with the face and manners of a fire-eater, Gavrolles strolled out next morning, cigar in mouth. Roaming along by the sea, he came face to face, in a quiet spot, with two Englishmen--James Forster and Edgar Sutherland. Gavrolles started and turned livid, clinging to his companion’s arm, as Sutherland accosted him. ‘I salute you, Monsieur Gavrolles. A word with you, if you please.’ ‘What do you seek with me?’ cried Gavrolles, shrilly, ‘I see you are not alone. If _monsieur le mari_ yonder wishes to recede from his bargain, it is too late. As for you, monsieur, I once warned you; and, as we are no longer in England, beware!’ Sutherland smiled. Forster, who looked pale as death, was about to interpose, when the younger man continued: ‘Monsieur Gavrolles, it is precisely because we are no longer in England that I accost you. Once, in London, you did me the honour to express a hope that we might meet on French soil. It was simply to realise that hope that my friend supplied you with money. You came--_we_ followed--you understand?’ Gavrolles shrank back from the powerful figure, and eyed the determined face with baleful hate. ‘I have no quarrel with you. I--I do not know you.’ Before Sutherland could say another word Forster interfered. ‘The man is right. As I said to you from the first--his quarrel is with me. Listen to me, man!’ he continued, facing Gavrolles. ‘I am not a duellist, I know nothing of your weapons, but unless you consent to fight me I shall have you arrested as an extortioner and a thief. You are still wanted in London, and if you refuse----’ Gavrolles, who had been watching the speaker keenly, and had paid particular attention to his words, answered with a scowl:-- ‘With you it is another affair, monsieur. I am at your service.’ ‘When?’ ‘As soon as you please. I am sorry that we could not end our little disagreement amicably, but since you are determined----’ And Gavrolles shrugged his shoulders. Sutherland pulled Forster aside, while Gavrolles, with an ugly smile, turned and volubly explained matters to his companion. ‘You are mad!’ Sutherland cried. ‘You should have left this affair to me. He is an expert duellist, and may kill you.’ ‘And if he does, so much the better.’ ‘You are determined?’ ‘Yes. For God’s sake settle the matter as soon as possible.’ Here Gavrolles’ companion with pompous dignity approached Sutherland. ‘Monsieur, that is my card. I am the Chevalier de Beauvoisin, and I represent my friend. Where and when can I see you and arrange the preliminaries?’ ‘Now, on this spot.’ The two men walked aside, and remained for some minutes in conversation. Then Sutherland returned to Forster, took his arm, and led him away. ‘It is arranged for to-morrow at daybreak,’ he said, ‘on the sands yonder, two miles from Boulogne. As you are the challenger, they had the choice of weapons. They have chosen pistols.’ ‘Very well.’