“What!” exclaimed Eusebe, with vehemence; “I encounter in my walk a wretch who slanders in the most infamous style a woman whom I love and whom I had quitted but a moment previous. I could pulverize this fellow with my fists, but refrain, because his shameful conduct awakens only contempt. I am content to tell him that he lies. And now I am forced to fight with this infamous scoundrel, and, as you say, to put myself at his disposal, and accept the weapons with which he is familiar, but which I have never used! Really, this cannot be so! it is barbarous!” “But it is so, my dear fellow. I repeat, the laws of honor are inflexible.” “The laws of honor! What honor? It is not I who have broken these laws, if any such exist: he is the guilty party.” “Listen, Eusebe,” rejoined Clamens, gravely. “You have defended the reputation of Adéonne; and in so doing you have acted nobly, not only because she is your mistress, but because she is a noble creature who loves you with all her heart. Yes, you have acted nobly. I also am convinced that La Soulaye has lied like a pickpocket. But in telling him so you did him an injury for which he has a right to demand reparation in the field. If you refuse to fight, you will be regarded as a coward, and the world will believe that he has truth and right on his side. I have made myself your second in this affair. I do not regret the step thus taken, and, if you refuse to fight, I will take your place.” “Why so?” “The laws of honor force me to do so.” “I will fight,” said Eusebe, resolutely; “but may the devil fly away with me if I can comprehend what you call the laws of honor!” CHAPTER XXXIV. After a long discussion, during which Clamens talked a great deal and Eusebe comprehended very little, the necessity for securing another second for the duel occurred to them, and the provincial started to hunt up his old friend Paul Buck, the painter. Paul had broken up his modest establishment some time previous, and it was not without extreme difficulty and much wearisome search that Eusebe found him, located in a wretched garret in the Rue Neuve Coquenard. Alas! Paul Buck was sadly changed. He was no longer the joyous artist with a contented heart and merry countenance. His woebegone features, neglected hair, ragged garments, and ventilated boots made him a sorry shadow of his former self. “Ah!” he exclaimed, upon seeing Eusebe, “I was thinking of you this morning. I said to myself, ‘If I knew the address of the barbarian, I would go to him and borrow ten francs?’” “Here are twenty,” said Eusebe. “Are you ill?” “Not at all. You find me much changed, do you not?” “Yes.” “It is from grief.” “Have you been unfortunate?” “Yes.” “The cause? You have talent, love art, and are persevering.” “As for talent, I no longer possess it. Art I despise, since I see fame bestowed upon fellows without merit. As for my strength, it vanished with Virginie,--a girl who left me to follow a waiter of a _café_.”