orrect, as she had so insolently asked
him to be. He would go, so to speak, to see Alba's portrait. He would
dissemble, then he would be better able to find a pretext for an
argument. It is so easy to find one in the simplest conversation, and
from an argument a quarrel is soon born. He would speak in such a manner
that Maitland would have to answer him. The rest would follow. But would
Alba Steno be present? Ha, so much the better! He would be so much more
at ease, if the altercation arose before her, to deceive his own wife as
to the veritable reason of the duel. Ah, he would have his dispute at any
price, and from the moment that the seconds had exchanged visits the
American's fate would be decided. He knew how to render it impossible for
the fellow to remain longer in Rome. The young man was greatly wrought up
by the romance of the provocation and the duel.

"How it refreshes the blood to be avenged upon two fools," said he to
himself, descending from his cab and inquiring at the door of the Moorish
house.

"Monsieur Maitland?" he asked the footman, who at one blow dissipated his
excitement by replying with this simple phrase, the only one of which he
had not thought in his frenzy:

"Monsieur is not at home."

"He will be at home to me," replied Boleslas. "I have an appointment with
Madame and Mademoiselle Steno, who are awaiting me."

"Monsieur's orders are strict," replied the servant.

Accustomed, as are all servants entrusted with the defence of an artist's
work, to a certain rigor of orders, he yet hesitated, in the face of the
untruth which Gorka had invented on the spur of the moment, and he was
about to yield to his importunity when some one appeared on the staircase
of the hall. That some one was none other than Florent Chapron. Chance
decreed that the latter should send for a carriage in which to go to
lunch, and that the carriage should be late. At the sound of wheels
stopping at the door, he looked out of one of the windows of his
apartment, which faced the street. He saw Gorka alight. Such a visit, at
such an hour, with the persons who were in the atelier, seemed to him so
dangerous that he ran downstairs immediately. He took up his hat and his
cane, to justify his presence in the hall by the very natural excuse that
he was going out. He reached the middle of the staircase just in time to
stop the servant, who had decided to "go and see," and, bowing to
Boleslas with more formality than usual: