lost unless I kill
him."

"Go to America with forty thousand francs. I'll find a way to get rid
of that scoundrel, and join you. It would be much wiser."

"What would people say of me?" he exclaimed. "No; I have buried nine
already. The fellow doesn't seem as if he knew much; he went from
school to the army, and there he was always fighting till 1815; then
he went to America, and I doubt if the brute ever set foot in a
fencing-alley; while I have no match with the sabre. The sabre is his
arm; I shall seem very generous in offering it to him,--for I mean, if
possible, to let him insult me,--and I can easily run him through.
Unquestionably, it is my wisest course. Don't be uneasy; we shall be
masters of the field in a couple of days."

That it was that a stupid point of honor had more influence over Max
than sound policy. When Flore got home she shut herself up to cry at
ease. During the whole of that day gossip ran wild in Issoudun, and
the duel between Philippe and Maxence was considered inevitable.

"Ah! Monsieur Hochon," said Mignonnet, who, accompanied by Carpentier,
met the old man on the boulevard Baron, "we are very uneasy; for Gilet
is clever with all weapons."

"Never mind," said the old provincial diplomatist; "Philippe has
managed this thing well from the beginning. I should never have
thought that big, easy-going fellow would have succeeded as he has.
The two have rolled together like a couple of thunder-clouds."

"Oh!" said Carpentier, "Philippe is a remarkable man. His conduct
before the Court of Peers was a masterpiece of diplomacy."

"Well, Captain Renard," said one of the townsfolk to Max's friend.
"They say wolves don't devour each other, but it seems that Max is
going to set his teeth in Colonel Bridau. That's pretty serious among
you gentlemen of the Old Guard."

"You make fun of it, do you? Because the poor fellow amused himself a
little at night, you are all against him," said Potel. "But Gilet is a
man who couldn't stay in a hole like Issoudun without finding
something to do."

"Well, gentlemen," remarked another, "Max and the colonel must play
out their game. Bridau had to avenge his brother. Don't you remember
Max's treachery to the poor lad?"

"Bah! nothing but an artist," said Renard.

"But the real question is about the old man's property," said a third.
"They say Monsieur Gilet was laying hands on fifty thousand francs a
year, when the colonel turned him out of his uncle's house