this man went soberly away to submit the last proposition to his principal.
He came back presently, and said his principal was charmed with the idea of brick-bats at three-quarters of a mile, but must decline on account of the danger to disinterested parties, passing between. Then I said,—
"Well, I am at the end of my string, now. Perhaps you would be good enough to suggest a weapon? Per haps you have even had one in your mind all the time?"
His countenance brightened, and he said with alacrity,—
"Oh, without doubt, monsieur!"
So he fell to hunting in his pockets,—pocket after pocket, and he had plenty of them, muttering all the while, "Now, what could I have done with them?"
At last he was successful. He fished out of his vest pocket a couple of little things which I carried to the light and discovered to be pistols. They were single-barrelled and silver-mounted, and very dainty and pretty. I was not able to speak for emotion. I silently hung one of them on my watch-chain, and returned the other. My companion in crime now unrolled a postage-stamp containing several cartridges, and gave me one of them. I asked if he meant to signify by this that our men were to be allowed but one shot apiece. He replied that the French code permitted no more. I then begged him to go on and suggest a distance, for my mind was growing weak and confused under the strain which had been put upon it. He named sixty-five yards. I nearly lost my patience. I said.—