Having thus calmed her fears, for she knew that de Beauvoir was no more a fire-eater than was he himself, he went off to have another consultation with his seconds.
"I shall not be back until late," he said, "as I am supping with Dumas. You must not stop up for me."
Instead, however, of returning that night, Dujarier, feeling that he could not face Lola and tell her the truth, stopped with one of his seconds. There he wrote and sealed a couple of letters, charging de Boignes to "deliver them if required by circumstances." The first was to his mother: If this letter reaches you, it will be because I shall be dead or else dangerously wounded. To-morrow morning I am going out to fight with pistols. My position requires it; and, as a man of honour, I accept the challenge. If you, my good mother, should have cause to weep, it is better that you should shed tears for a son worthy of yourself than to shed them for a coward. I go to the combat in the spirit of a man who is calm and sure of himself. Justice is on my side.
A more difficult, although less flamboyant, letter to write was the second one, for its recipient would be the woman who had given him her heart: and was even then anxiously awaiting his return: MY EVER DEAREST LOLA: I want to explain why it was I slept by myself and did not come to you this morning. It is because I have to fight a duel. All my calmness is required, and seeing you would have upset me. By two o'clock this afternoon everything will be over.
A thousand fond farewells to the dear little girl I love so much, and the thoughts of whom will be with me for ever.
Having written his letters, he proceeded to draw up his will. This document left, among specific bequests to his mother and sister, certain shares that he held in the Palais Royal to Lola Montez.
III
The date of the meeting was March 11, and the rendezvous was a retired spot in the Bois de Boulogne. A bitterly cold morning, with snow on the ground and heavy clouds in a leaden sky. As the clock struck the appointed hour, Dujarier, accompanied by his seconds, and M. de Guise, a medical man, drove up in a cab. They were the first to arrive.
After waiting for more than an hour, Dujarier was in such a nervous condition that his seconds declared he would be justified in leaving the field, since his adversary had not kept the appointment. Instead, however, of jumping at the chance, he took a swig at a flask of cognac. The potent spirit gave him some measure of Dutch courage, and his teeth stopped chattering.