I said: "Sixty-five yards, with these instruments?
Squirt-guns would be deadlier at fifty.

Consider, my friend, you and I are banded together to destroy life, not make it eternal." But with all my persuasions, all my arguments, I was only able to get him to reduce the distance to thirty-five yards; and even this concession he made with reluctance, and said with a sigh, "I wash my hands of this slaughter; on your head be it." There was nothing for me but to go home to my old lion-heart and tell my humiliating story.

When I entered, M.Gambetta was laying his last lock of hair upon the altar.

He sprang toward me, exclaiming: "You have made the fatal arrangements--I see it in your eye!" "I have." His face paled a trifle, and he leaned upon the table for support.

He breathed thick and heavily for a moment or two, so tumultuous were his feelings; then he hoarsely whispered: "The weapon, the weapon! Quick! what is the weapon ?" "This!" and I displayed that silver-mounted thing.