"But me, she will see me. Go and tell her it is Mademoiselle de Nailles." Moved by her persistence, the footman went in to inquire, and came back immediately with the answer: "Madame la Comtesse can not see Mademoiselle." "Ah!" thought Jacqueline, "she, too, throws me off, and it is natural. I have no friends left. No one will tell me anything!--I think it will drive me mad?" She was half-mad already. She stopped at a newsstand and bought all the evening journals; then, up in her garret, in her poor little nest under the roof-which, as she felt bitterly, was her only refuge, she began to look over those printed papers in which she might possibly find out the true cause of the duel. Nearly all related the event in almost the exact terms used by the Figaro. Ah!--here was a different one! A reporter who knew something more added, in Gil Blas: "We have stated the cause of the dispute as it has been given to the public, but in affairs of this nature more than in any others, it is safe to remember the old proverb: 'Look for the woman.' The woman could doubtless have been found enjoying herself on the sunny shores of the Mediterranean, while men were drawing swords in her defense." Jacqueline went on looking through the newspapers, crumpling up the sheets as she laid them down. The last she opened had the reputation of being a repository of scandals, never to be depended on, as she well knew. Several times it had come to her hand and she had not opened it, remembering what her father had always said of its reputation. But where would she be more likely to find what she wanted than in the columns of a journal whose reporters listened behind doors and peeped through keyholes? Under the heading of 'Les Dessous Parisiens', she read on the first page: "Two hens lived in peace; a cock came And strife soon succeeded to joy; E'en as love, they say, kindled the flame That destroyed the proud city of Troy.