f a duel as
naturally as the descendants of a line of suicides think of killing
themselves.

Joyous Ardea, with his Italian keenness, had seen at a glance the end to
which Gorka's nature would lead him. The betrayed lover required a duel
to enable him to bear the treason. He might wound, he might, perhaps,
kill his rival, and his passion would be satisfied, or else he would
risk being killed himself, and the courage he would display braving
death would suffice to raise him in his own estimation. A mad thought
possessed him and caused him to hasten toward the Rue Leopardi, to
provoke his rival suddenly and before Madame Steno! Ah, what pleasure it
would give him to see her tremble, for she surely would tremble when
she saw him enter the studio! But he would be correct, 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 a