ent a life already shaken by the tempests of the
senses and of the world.

The hermit of that Thebaide rose to greet his two visitors, and pointing
out to Chapron an open volume on his table, he said to him:

"I was thinking of you. It is Chateauvillars's book on duelling. It
contains a code which is not very complete. I recommend it to you,
however, if ever you have to fulfil a mission like ours," and he pointed
to Dorsenne and himself, with a gesture which constituted the most
amicable of acceptations. "It seems you had too hasty a hand.... Ha! ha!
Do not defend yourself. Such as you see me, at twenty-one I threw a plate
in the face of a gentleman who bantered Comte de Chambord before a number
of Jacobins at a table d'hote in the provinces. See," continued he,
raising his white moustache and disclosing a scar, "this is the souvenir.
The fellow was once a dragoon; he proposed the sabre. I accepted, and
this is what I got, while he lost two fingers.... That will not happen to
us this time at least.... Dorsenne has told you our conditions."

"And I replied that I was sure I could not intrust my honor to better
hands," replied Florent.

"Cease!" replied Montfanon, with a gesture of satisfaction. "No more
phrases. It is well. Moreover, I judged you, sir, from the day on which
you spoke to me at Saint Louis. You honor your dead. That is why I shall
be happy, very happy, to be useful to you."

"Now tell me very clearly the recital you made to Dorsenne."

Then Florent related concisely that which had taken place between him and
Gorka--that is to say, their argument and his passion, carefully omitting
the details in which the name of his brother-in-law would be mixed.

"The deuce!" said Montfanon, familiarly, "the affair looks bad, very
bad.... You see, a second is a confessor. You have had a discussion in
the street with Monsieur Gorka, but about what? You can not reply? What
did he say to you to provoke you to the point of wishing to strike him?
That is the first key to the position."

"I can not reply," said Florent.

"Then," resumed the Marquis, after a silence, "there only remains to
assert that the gesture on your part was--how shall I say? Unmeditated
and unfinished. That is the second key to the position.... You have no
special grudge against Monsieur Gorka?"

"None."

"Nor he against you?"

"None."

"The affair looks better," said Montfanon, who was silent for a time, to
resume, in the voice of a man w