"Surely there is some way of disabling people with whom you have no serious quarrel without killing them outright?" "I really cannot undertake to miss him just to oblige you! Think! He would naturally go and publish everywhere that I did not know how to shoot!" "All right! I see I need not have spoken. I bet you have an idea of some sort." "Frankly, I have. But then he must do his part." "What must he do?" "Just keep perfectly still, it ought not to be so very difficult. See, they are ready." The seconds had just measured the forty-five paces. Colonel Anderson now measured off fifteen from each end, and to mark the exact limit which neither combatant was to pass, he laid two scabbards across and planted a sword upright in the ground at each end to decide the starting-point. "To your places, gentlemen," cried the seconds. Herr Kleist having selected his pistol, the colonel brought the other to Benedict, who was talking to the major, and who took the pistol without as much as looking at it, and still chatting with von Bülow, walked quietly to his place. The duellists now stood at the extreme distance. "Gentlemen!" said Colonel Anderson, "you are now forty-five paces apart. Each of you may either advance fifteen paces before firing, or may fire from where he now stands. Herr Georges Kleist has the first shot and may fire as soon as he pleases. Having fired, he may hold his pistol so as to protect any part of himself he wishes. "Now, gentlemen!" The two adversaries advanced towards each other. Having arrived at the mark, Benedict waited, standing, facing his opponent with folded arms. A light breeze ruffled his hair and blew his shirt open at the chest. He had walked at his ordinary pace. Herr Kleist, dressed entirely in black, bare-headed, and with closely buttoned coat, had advanced slowly, by force of will overcoming physical disinclination. He halted at the limit. "You are ready, sir?" he asked. "Quite ready, sir." "Will you not turn sideways?" "I am not accustomed to do so." Then, turning himself, Herr Kleist slowly raised his pistol, took aim, and fired. Benedict heard the ball whiz close by his ear and felt the wind ruffle his hair; it had passed within an inch of his head. His adversary instantly raised his pistol, holding it so as to protect his face, but was unable entirely to control a nervous movement of his hand. "Sir," said Benedict, "you courteously asked just now if I would not stand sideways, which is unusual between combatants. Permit me in my turn to offer a piece of advice, or rather, make a request." "What is it, sir?" asked the journalist, still protecting himself with his pistol. "This; keep your hand steady, your pistol is moving. I wish to put my ball in the wood of your pistol, which will be very difficult unless you keep it quite still. Against my own will I might hit you, either in the cheek or the back of the head, whereas--if you keep your hand just as it is--"