I was never more free from passion in my life, and it was, therefore, with the utmost calmness and composure that, in the midst of my antagonist's harangue, I raised my hand and--quietly knocked him down.
He rose in a moment.

"Sortons," said he, in a low tone, "a Frenchman never forgives a blow!" At that moment, an Englishman, who had been sitting unnoticed in an obscure corner of the cafe, came up and took me aside.
"Sir," said he, "don't think of fighting the man; he is a tradesman in the Rue St.Honore.I myself have seen him behind the counter; remember that 'a ram may kill a butcher.'" "Sir," I replied, "I thank you a thousand times for your information.
Fight, however, I must, and I'll give you, like the Irishman, my reasons afterwards: perhaps you will be my second." "With pleasure," said the Englishman, (a Frenchman would have said, "with pain!") We left the cafe together.

My countryman asked them if he should go the gunsmith's for the pistols.
"Pistols!" said the Frenchman's second: "we will only fight with swords." "No, no," said my new friend.

"'On ne prend le lievre au tabourin.' We are the challenged, and therefore have the choice of weapons." Luckily I overheard this dispute, and called to my second--"Swords or pistols," said I; "it is quite the same to me.

I am not bad at either, only do make haste." Swords, then, were chosen and soon procured.