“I will see you again, my friend. At a later day you will regret that you have not heeded my counsel. Do not forget, however, that I am always ready to resume my course of instruction.” “Thank you,” responded Eusebe. “Your goodness touches me nearly, and----” The remainder of the sentence was lost in a sudden murmur. Dropping the hand of his friend, young Martin passed rapidly on to where a group of young men were seated before the door of the Café Tortoni. “What is the matter?” asked Daniel, who followed him. “Do you not hear?” said Eusebe, apparently agitated. “Yes,” said one of the young men; “Adéonne is a fascinating creature. During the week that I have enjoyed her acquaintance, I have been able to comprehend the desperate love that has inspired that old fool Fontournay.” “Did you say, monsieur,” demanded Eusebe, pale and trembling, “that you have lived with Adéonne for a week?” “I have said what I pleased,” haughtily responded the young man. “I do not know that I am accountable to you for what I say.” “I ask nothing of you,” rejoined Eusebe. “I only wish you to repeat your words, in order that I may tell you that you lie. If you do not repeat your words, it is of no consequence. I say that you have lied.” And, taking Clamens by the arm, the indignant provincial moved away. “This is a bad business,” said the poet. “Why?” “You will soon see.” At this moment a young man of irreproachable elegance advanced to the lover of Adéonne. “Monsieur,” said he to Eusebe, saluting him with exquisite politeness, “my friend the Count de la Soulaye deputes me to remind you that you have given him the lie in public, and have omitted to leave your card.” Eusebe was about to reply, when Clamens stepped before him. “Monsieur,” said the poet, “oblige me by giving my address to M. de la Soulaye. My friend M. Eusebe Martin, of the Capelette, in the fury of anger, has forgotten to leave his card. Here is mine. Until to-morrow at noon we shall be at your disposal.” “I thank you,” said the young man, exchanging cards with the dramatist; and then, bowing politely, he rejoined his friends. “And now,” said Eusebe, “will you tell me, my good Clamens, what this exchange of cards signifies?” “Alas! It means that you will fight M. de la Soulaye to-morrow.” “I fight? How?” “With swords, sabres, or pistols, as he may see fit. He has the choice of weapons, since you gave the insult.” “For Heaven’s sake, my friend, do not mock me!” “Nothing can be more serious. Unfortunately, I am not joking,” replied Clamens, sadly. “I foresaw that you would do something of which you knew not the consequences. Now that the evil is done, there is no help for it: you must fight: the laws of honor, or rather the laws of society, oblige you to do so.”