Although de Jars was the only person who visited the chevalier, he was not the only one who was anxious about the patient’s health. Maitre Quennebert, or men engaged by him to watch, for he did not want to attract attention, were always prowling about the neighbourhood, so that he was kept well informed of everything that went on: The instructions he gave to these agents were, that if a funeral should leave the house, they were to find out the name of the deceased, and then to let him know without delay. But all these precautions seemed quite useless: he always received the same answer to all his questions, “We know nothing.” So at last he determined to address himself directly to the man who could give him information on which he could rely. One night the commander left the surgeon’s feeling more cheerful than usual, for the chevalier had passed a good day, and there was every hope that he was on the road to complete recovery. Hardly had de Jars gone twenty paces when someone laid a hand on his shoulder. He turned and saw a man whom, in the darkness, he did not recognise. “Excuse me for detaining you, Commander de Jars,” said Quennebert, “but I have a word to say to you.” “Ali! so it’s you, sir,” replied the commander. “Are you going at last to give me the opportunity I was so anxious for?” “I don’t understand.” “We are on more equal terms this time; to-day you don’t catch me unprepared, almost without weapons, and if you are a man of honour you will measure swords with me.” “Fight a duel with you! why, may I ask? You have never insulted me.” “A truce to pleasantry, sir; don’t make me regret that I have shown myself more generous than you. I might have killed you just now had I wished. I could have put my pistol to your breast and fired, or said to you, ‘Surrender at discretion!’ as you so lately said to me.” “And what use would that have been?” “It would have made a secret safe that you ought never to have known.”