at Hennequin's friends assured him he had no
choice but to challenge this bravo. Hennequin, brave enough at the bar,
was no hero before sword-point or pistol. He was utterly ignorant of the
use of either weapon; his death in the encounter with an antagonist
so formidable seemed to him certain, and life was so precious,--an
honourable and distinguished career opening before him, marriage with
the woman he loved. Still he had the Frenchman's point of honour. He had
been told that he must fight; well, then, he must. He asked De Mauleon
to be one of his seconds, and in asking him, sank in his chair, covered
his face with his hands, and burst into tears.

"Wait till to-morrow," said De Mauleon; "take no step till then.
Meanwhile, you are in my hands, and I answer for your honour."

On leaving Hennequin, Victor sought the spadassin at the club of which
they were both members, and contrived, without reference to Hennequin,
to pick a quarrel with him. A challenge ensued; a duel with swords took
place the next morning. De Mauleon disarmed and wounded his antagonist,
not gravely, but sufficiently to terminate the encounter. He assisted
to convey the wounded man to his apartment, and planted himself by his
bedside, as if he were a friend.

"Why on earth did you fasten a quarrel on me?" asked the spadassin; "and
why, having done so, did you spare my life; for your sword was at my
heart when you shifted its point, and pierced my shoulder?"

"I will tell you, and in so doing, beg you to accept my friendship
hereafter, on one condition. In the course of the day, write or dictate
a few civil words of apology to M. Hennequin. Ma foi! every one will
praise you for a generosity so becoming in a man who has given such
proofs of courage and skill to an avocat who has never handled a sword
nor fired a pistol."

That same day De Mauleon remitted to Hennequin an apology for heated
words freely retracted, which satisfied all his friends. For the service
thus rendered by De Mauleon, Hennequin declared himself everlastingly
indebted. In fact, he entirely owed to that friend his life, his
marriage, his honour, his career.

"And now," thought De Mauleon, "now, when he could so easily requite
me,--now he will not even take my hand. Is human nature itself at war
with me?"

CHAPTER III.

Nothing could be simpler than the apartment of the Vicomte de Mauleon,
in the second story of a quiet old-fashioned street. It had been
furnished at s