of the former duellist, who had become the most ardent
of Catholics and the most monomaniacal of old bachelors, twenty diverse
expressions. At length Montfanon laid his hand with veritable solemnity
on his interlocutor's arm and said to him:

"Listen, Dorsenne, do not tell me any more.... I consent to what you ask
of me, but on two conditions. They are these: The first is that Monsieur
Chapron will trust absolutely to my judgment, whatsoever it may be; the
second is that you will retire with me if these gentlemen persist in
their childishness.... I promise to aid you in fulfilling a mission of
charity, and not anything else; I repeat, not anything else. Before
bringing Monsieur Chapron to me you will repeat to him what I have said,
word for word."

"Word for word," replied the other, adding: "He is at home awaiting the
result of my undertaking."

"Then," said the Marquis, "I will return to Rome with you at once. He has
probably already received Gorka's seconds, and if they really wish to
arrange a duel the rule is not to put it off.... I shall not see my
procession, but to prevent misfortune is to do a good deed, and it is one
way of praying to God."

"Let me press your hand, my noble friend," said Dorsenne; "never have I
better understood what a truly brave man is."

When the writer alighted, three-quarters of an hour later, at the house
on the Rue Leopardi, after having seen Montfanon home, he felt sustained
by such moral support that was almost joyous. He found Florent in his
species of salon-smoking-room, arranging his papers with methodical
composure.

"He accepts," were the first words the young men uttered, almost
simultaneously, while Dorsenne repeated Montfanon's words.

"I depend absolutely on you two," replied the other. "I have no thirst
for Monsieur de Gorka's blood.... But that gentleman must not accuse the
grandson of Colonel Chapron of cowardice.... For that I rely upon the
relative of General Dorsenne and on the old soldier of Charette."

As he spoke, Florent handed a letter to Julien, who asked: "From whom is
this?"

"This," said Florent, "is a letter addressed to you, on this very table
half an hour ago by Baron Hafner.... There is some news. I have received
my adversary's seconds. The Baron is one, Ardea the other."

"Baron Hafner!" exclaimed Dorsenne. "What a singular choice!" He paused,
and he and Florent exchanged glances. They understood one another without
speaking. Boleslas could no