"Wolves do not eat one another," replied Berton laughing; "so let us talk without anger. The story is this:--all Paris, except yourself, has been laughing at it for a week past. It appears that on the one hand, although no one suspected it, the aforesaid Magnian was in love with Madame Bouchereau, and that on the other, finding himself threatened with a pulmonary complaint, he thought it advisable to pass the winter in a warm climate. What did the arch-schemer? He persuaded Bouchereau that it was he, Bouchereau, whose chest was affected; sent him off to Nice with his pretty wife, and, at his leisure, without haste or hurry, joined them there. You have only to look at them, as they sit yonder, to guess the _denouement_ of the history. The appropriate label for their box would be the title of one of Paul de Kock's last novels; _la Femme_, _le Mari_, _el l'Amant_. Magnian is a cunning dog, and has very ingenious ideas. Fearing, doubtless, that the husband might be too clear-sighted, he threatened him with an ophthalmia, and made him wear blue spectacles. Clever, wasn't it? and a capital story?" "Charming, delightful!" cried the Captain, with a smile that resembled a gnashing of teeth. The tragedy was over. Dr Magnian left his box; Pelletier followed his example. The next minute the two men met in the lobby. "Doctor, a word with you," said the officer sternly. "Two, if you like, Captain," was Magnian's jovial reply. "It appears, that in spite of your prognostics, Bouchereau is in perfect health." "_Voudriez-vous qu'il mourut?_ Would you have him die?" said the Doctor, parodying with a comical emphasis the delivery of Joanny, who had taken the part of the father of the Horatii. "I know you are excellent at a joke," retorted Pelletier, whose vexation was rapidly turning to anger; "but you know that I am not accustomed to serve as a butt. Be good enough to speak seriously. Is it true that Bouchereau was never in danger?" "In great danger, on the contrary. Was he not about fighting you?" "So that when you sent him to Nice----?" "It was to prevent the duel. As a physician, I watch over the health of my clients; and it was my duty to preserve Bouchereau from your sword, which is said to be a terrible malady." "One of which you will perhaps have to cure yourself before very long," exclaimed the Captain, completely exasperated by the Doctor's coolness. "The idiot Bouchereau may die of fear, or of any thing else. I certainly shall not do him the honour to meddle with him; but you, my friend, so skilled in sharp jests, I shall be glad to see if your valour equals your wit." The part of an unfortunate and mystified rival is so humiliating, that Pelletier's vanity prevented his stating his real ground of complaint, and mentioning the name of Madame Bouchereau. The Doctor imitated his reserve, and listened to the officer's defiance with the same tranquil smile which had previously played upon his countenance.