and panorama of the historical
scene! At the voice of the recluse, the broken columns rose, the ruined
temples were rebuilt, the triumphal view was cleared from its mist.
He talked, and the formidable epopee of the Roman legend was evoked,
interpreted by the fervent Christian in that mystical and providential
sense, which all, indeed, proclaims in that spot, where the Mamertine
prison relates the trial of St. Peter, where the portico of the temple
of Faustine serves as a pediment to the Church of St. Laurent,
where Ste.-Marie-Liberatrice rises upon the site of the Temple of
Vesta--'Sancta Maria, libera nos a poenis inferni'--Montfanon always
added when he spoke of it, and he pointed out the Arch of Titus, which
tells of the fulfilment of the prophecies of Our Lord against Jerusalem,
while, opposite, the groves reveal the out lines of a nunnery upon the
ruins of the dwellings of the Caesars. And, at the extreme end, the
Coliseum recalls to mind the ninety thousand spectators come to see the
martyrs suffer.

Such were the sights where lived the former pontifical zouave, and, on
ringing the bell of the third etage, Julien said to himself: "I am a
simpleton to come to propose to such a man what I have to propose. Yet
it is not to be a second in an ordinary duel, but simply to prevent an
adventure which might cost the lives of two men in the first place,
then the honor of Madame Steno, and, lastly, the peace of mind of three
innocent persons, Madame Gorka, Madame Maitland and my little friend
Alba.... He alone has sufficient authority to arrange all. It will be an
act of charity, like any other.... I hope he is at home," he concluded,
hearing the footstep of the servant, who recognized the visitor and who
anticipated all questions.

"The Marquis went out this morning before eight o'clock. He will not
return until dinner-time."

"Do you know where he has gone?"

"To hear mass in a catacomb, and to be present at a procession," replied
the footman, who took Dorsenne's card, adding: "The Trappists of Saint
Calixtus certainly know where the Marquis is.... He lunched with them."

"We shall see," said the young man to himself, somewhat disappointed.
His carriage rolled in the direction of Porte St. Sebastien, near which
was the catacomb and the humble dwelling contiguous to it--the last
morsel of the Papal domains kept by the poor monks. "Montfanon will have
taken communion this morning," thought he, "and at the very word duel