I could not contain my wrath; I struck him in the face. Saint-Bergame tried to rush at me; but our quarrel had attracted general attention; someone threw himself between us, and I noticed then for the first time that Saint-Bergame's companion was Fouvenard. We left the hall; several persons tried to adjust our difficulty, but I satisfied them that their mediation was useless, and that we knew perfectly well how the affair must end. I joined Saint-Bergame, who, with Fouvenard, awaited me in a corner of the vestibule. The latter stared at me in amazement, murmuring: "What! is it you? What is this quarrel about?" "There are no explanations to be given, messieurs. At what hour to-morrow?" "At nine o'clock--no, ten o'clock, at Porte Maillot," said Saint-Bergame, who was trembling with anger. "I don't like to rise early. I shall have time enough to kill you." "Very good, monsieur! Your weapon?" "The sword." "That is all." "I shall have monsieur and another second with me." "It seems to me that monsieur would suffice." "You evidently do not fight often, monsieur, and are not familiar with the customs of duelling." I did not consider it necessary to reply to this new insult. "Very good; I will have two witnesses," I said, and walked away. I returned to the hall and was going toward Madame Dauberny's box, when a lady rushed up to me. It was Frédérique. She took my arm and led me away, saying: "Come! let us go! let us go!" I followed her from the building. She almost made me run; she squeezed my arm convulsively; I spoke to her, and she did not reply; but she wept, and hid her face in her handkerchief. At last we arrived at her house. Then she threw herself into a chair and her sobs burst forth anew. I knelt at her feet; I took her hand and begged her to tell me the cause of her grief. "The cause? the cause? You ask me that when you are to fight to-morrow--for me?" "I am to fight?" "Oh! no falsehoods! I recognized you at the entrance to the orchestra. You struck Saint-Bergame." "Yes, for he insulted you." She took my head in her hands and kissed me again and again, crying: "Ah! that was well done! Thanks, my friend! I expected nothing less from you." "Well! in that case, why these tears, this grief, when I am going to punish a man who had insulted you once before? I found this evening an opportunity that I have been looking for ever since our drive in the Bois de Boulogne." "Oh! of course, this duel would be an everyday affair, if---- Mon Dieu! it is my fault! always my fault! Why did I leave the country? why did I come back to Paris? All this would not have happened, if I had stayed at Fontenay. But you, my friend--why did you come back--why did you follow me? Why didn't you stay with that woman whom you love--and who has no idea of spurning you now?"