d then know that free-will is but an illusion,
and that physiological affinities are as exactly determined as are
chemical combinations, and, like them, may be summed up in a formula. I
think that, in your case, it might be possible to inculcate these
truths, but it would be a difficult task, and maybe they would not bring
you the serenity which eludes you. It is fitting, therefore, that I
should leave this spot, and----"

"Stay," said Maurice.

Maurice had a very clear sense of social obligations. He put honour,
when he thought about it, above everything. So now he told himself very
forcibly that the outrage he had suffered could only be wiped out with
blood. This traditional idea instantly lent an unexpected nobility to
his speech and bearing.

"It is I, Monsieur," said he, "who will quit this place, never to
return. You will remain here, since you are a refugee. My seconds will
wait upon you."

The angel smiled.

"I will receive them, if it gives you pleasure, but, bethink you, my
dear Maurice, I am invulnerable. Celestial spirits even when they are
materialised cannot be touched by point of sword or pistol shot.
Consider, my dear Maurice, the awkward situation in which this fatal
inequality puts me, and realise that in refusing to appoint seconds I
cannot give as a reason my celestial nature,--it would be
unprecedented."

"Monsieur," replied the heir of the Bussart d'Esparvieu, "you should
have thought of that before you insulted me."

Out he marched haughtily; but no sooner was he in the street than he
staggered like a drunken man. The rain was still falling. He walked
unseeing, unhearing, at haphazard, dragging his feet in the gutters
through pools of water, through heaps of mud. He followed the outer
boulevards for a long time, and at length, fordone with weariness, lay
down on the edge of a piece of waste land. He was muddied up to the
eyes, mud and tears smeared his face, the brim of his hat was dripping
with rain. A passer-by, taking him for a beggar, tossed him a copper. He
picked it up, put it carefully in his waistcoat pocket, and set off to
find his seconds.

CHAPTER XXX

WHICH TREATS OF AN AFFAIR OF HONOUR, AND WHICH WILL AFFORD
THE READER AN OPPORTUNITY OF JUDGING WHETHER, AS ARCADE
AFFIRMS, THE EXPERIENCE OF OUR FAULTS MAKES BETTER MEN AND
WOMEN OF US

The ground chosen for the combat was Colonel Manchon's garden, on the
Boulevard de la Reine at Versailles. Mes