I thought he was mad, and that some arrangement would be come to; but nothing of the kind. D’Ache fired a second time, and again missed; and Schmit, without a word, but as calm as death, fired his first pistol in the air, and then covering d’Ache with his second pistol hit him in the forehead and stretched him dead on the ground. He put back his pistols into his pocket and went off directly by himself, as if he were merely continuing his walk. In two minutes I followed his example, after ascertaining that the unfortunate d’Ache no longer breathed. I was in a state of amazement. Such a duel was more like a combat of romance than a real fact. I could not understand it; I had watched the Swiss, and had not noticed the slightest change pass over his face. I breakfasted with Madame d’Urfe, whom I found inconsolable. It was the full moon, and at three minutes past four exactly I ought to perform the mysterious creation of the child in which she was to be born again. But the Lascaris, on whom the work was to be wrought, was twisting and turning in her bed, contorting herself in such a way that it would be impossible for me to accomplish the prolific work. My grief, when I heard what had happened, was hypocritical; in the first place because I no longer felt any desire for the girl, and in the second because I thought I saw a way in which I could make use of the incident to take vengeance on her. I lavished consolations on Madame d’Urfe; and on consulting the oracle I found that the Lascaris had been defiled by an evil genius, and that I must search for another virgin whose purity must be under the protection of more powerful spirits. I saw that my madwoman was perfectly happy with this, and I left her to visit the Corticelli, whom I found in bed with her mother beside her. “You have convulsions, have you, dearest?” said I. “No, I haven’t. I am quite well, but all the same I shall have them till you give me back my jewel-casket.” “You are getting wicked, my poor child; this comes of following your mother’s advice. As for the casket, if you are going to behave like this, probably you will have it.” “I will reveal all.” “You will not be believed; and I shall send you back to Bologna without letting you take any of the presents which Madame d’Urfe has given you.” “You ought to have given me back the casket when I declared myself with child.” Signora Laura told me that this was only too true, though I was not the father. “Who is, then?” I asked. “Count N----, whose mistress she was at Prague.” It did not seem probable, as she had no symptoms of pregnancy; still it might be so. I was obliged to plot myself to bring the plots of these two rascally women to nought, and without saying anything to them I shut myself up with Madame d’Urfe to enquire of the oracle concerning the operation which was to make her happy.