“I await you,” said I; “take care of my ripostas, which are very rapidly delivered.” “We will see,” said Félicién, dealing me a thrust which I had only just time to parry. But, at last, I touched, almost imperceptibly, his breast with the button of my foil. He bounded backwards; and while neither of us cried “_Touched?_” yet all the spectators saw that it was so. He again rushed on me, his teeth set, his lips pale. He crossed my foil, and passed _one, two_. But in retreat, his foil caught my guard, and snapped off, about two inches from the button. But he continued to fight, as if he knew not that his weapon was broken. So I took the first opportunity that offered; and, twisting his blade out of his hand, sent it flying across the room. “Pardon me,” said I, “for disarming you; I know that it is not etiquette; but neither is it etiquette to fence with a buttonless foil. You might have dangerously wounded me, and been unhappy yourself ever afterwards.” Then, taking off my mask, I hung it on the wall, and placed my foil by the side of it. Félicién saw plainly that I did not wish to continue the combat; and, without taking off his mask, he stalked out of the room. “Ah!” cried M. Duplay; “you have read him a good lesson, and I must say that he deserved it. Now then, say good-bye to the ladies, and let us be off to the Rue Grange Batélière, where you will introduce me to M. Drouet. I need not tell you that if I hear of your coming to Paris without paying me a visit, I shall be your bitter enemy for life.” I bade the two girls good-bye, and we set out. As I expected, Félicién was awaiting us in the court. The moment he saw me come out with M. Duplay, who evidently only came with me to prevent a quarrel, Félicién began to divest himself of his upper garments; but M. Duplay cried out, “Come here, you young vagabond!—I tell you, come here!” Félicién approached unwillingly. “Give your hand to my young friend here—he has a right to it.” “Has what?” asked Félicién. “Nothing,” I hastened to reply. “M. Duplay believes that you knew your foil to be unbuttoned, but I have told him ‘no!’ Come; shake hands, and be friends.” I held out my hand. Félicién took it with rather a bad grace. “There,” said M. Duplay; “you have said adieu! We go our way—you can go yours.” And he dismissed him with a wave of his hand. We went our way. “You see, I was right in coming out with you,” said M. Duplay. “The little scoundrel was waiting there to pick a quarrel with you. He would not be a bad carpenter if he would work, but he thinks the trade beneath him. He loves, and is jealous of Cornelie. One can easily see that, but he is eighteen months younger than she. I don’t think that Cornelie is very fond of him; but you have given a lesson to M. Veto, and you have done well.” I did not reply, as I agreed in every respect with M. Duplay.