meeting—the only duel I ever saw fought out, and the only one I want to see. When we arrived on the ground, our other second, who had driven over from Novgorod, was already measuring the fifteen paces. They had driven a stake into the turf to mark the centre line; and, as for the place chosen, it could not have been better. It was just a natural bit of lawn in the midst of the pine thickets; a little clearing so thick set round with woods that an army might have tramped the high-road and have known nothing of what we were doing. The general himself was al- ready there when we arrived, looking spick and span in his tight-fitting uniform, and having a bow and a smile for every one—even for the count. The surgeon, one from the barracks in the town, was busy chattering like a barber, and offering his brandy-flask to all who would like a nip out of it. As for the others—the general's seconds and our own—they were as busy as bees, and a thundering sight more important. You might have thought they were surveying the ground for a new railway, so carefully did they go over it with their tapes and rules; and it was not until a good twenty minutes had passed that one of them cried, "Gentlemen, we are ready," and I knew that the great play was about to begin.
I call it a great play; but, God knows, my heart was in my mouth—then and until the end of it. It's an awful thing to look upon two men, full of life and health and strength, and to think that one of them may lie in his blood, to die where he falls, before
