"I will fight," he announced grandiloquently. "I am a Frenchman, and my honour is very dear to me."
It was to be put to the test, for a few minutes later de Beauvallon and his seconds arrived, with a tardy apology.
On behalf of their principal, Dujarier's seconds then made a last appeal for an amicable settlement. It was coldly received; and they were told that "the insult offered was too serious to be wiped out by words." There being nothing else for it, the preliminaries were discussed, the conditions of the combat being that the adversaries should stand thirty paces apart, advance six paces, and then fire.
The pistols were furnished by d'Ecquevillez, and it had been expressly stipulated that his principal should not have handled them until that moment. When, however, Bertrand examined the pair, he remarked that, since the barrels were blackened and still warm to the touch, it was obvious that somebody had already practised with them. As, however, d'Ecquevillez swore that they had not been tried by de Beauvallon, the protest was withdrawn.
The distance being measured and the adversaries placed in position, the seconds stepped aside. Then, at a signal, the word was given. The first to fire was Dujarier. He was, however, so agitated that he sent a bullet wide of the mark. De Beauvallon, on the other hand, was perfectly cool and collected. He lifted his weapon and aimed with such deliberate care that de Boignes, unable to restrain himself, called out excitedly: "Mais, tirez donc, Monsieur!" With a nod, de Beauvallon pressed the trigger. There was an answering flash and a report; and, as the smoke drifted away, Dujarier reeled and fell, blood gushing from his mouth and nostrils.
When Dr. de Guise examined him, he looked grave. He saw at once that the injury was serious. As a matter of fact, Dujarier was dead before they returned to Paris.
As the cab reached the house in the rue Lafitte, Lola, waiting there in an agony of suspense, heard the rumble of wheels. Rushing downstairs, she stepped back with a cry of terror, for three men were carrying a heavy burden into the hall. Instinctively, she realised that the worst had happened, that her suspense was at an end.
"Mademoiselle, we have ill tidings for you," said de Boignes.
"I know it," said Lola. "Dujarier is killed. I felt sure this would happen. You should not have let him fight."
The funeral of Dujarier, which took place a couple of days later in the cemetery at Montmartre, was attended by characteristic pomp. The velvet pall above his coffin was held by Balzac, Dumas, and Joseph Méry, and a flowery "oration" delivered at the graveside by Emile de Girardin: "Whether it endure but a single day, or be deep and prolonged, Man's sorrow is always barren and profitless. It cannot restore to a disconsolate mother, bemoaning her untimely loss, the son for whom she weeps, or give him back to his friends.... Let the words written by Dujarier: 'I am about to fight a duel for the most absurd and futile of causes,' never be effaced from our memory. Farewell, Dujarier! Rest in peace! Let us carry away from the graveside the hope that the recollection of so lamentable an end will last long enough to shield others from a similar one. Let all mothers--still astounded and trembling--derive some measure of confidence from this hope, and pray to God for poor Dujarier with all the fervour of their souls!"