"What! have you heard? But let me embrace you again! That scar is tremendously becoming to you, and I am delighted that you have had this duel, in which your adversary evidently didn't fight with a dead arm. Damnation! what a slash!--Ah! people won't say now that I fight instead of you; this will put a stopper on all the sneering tongues. But what did you fight about?" "It was the sequel of a breakfast party of artists, business men, and this one Irish officer. We had plenty to eat and drink. The conversation fell on women, that inexhaustible subject of conversation among young men; I said that the French women, even those who were least pretty, always outdid the women of other countries in dress and carriage; thereupon the Irishman lost his temper, and called me a greenhorn. I threw my napkin in his face; after that, a duel with swords--that was the weapon chosen by my adversary; and this wound healed very slowly and kept me in bed six weeks; otherwise, I should have come home long ago." "Dear Gustave! Ah! what a noble scar! It is very becoming, and I congratulate you again." "But I have no congratulations for you, but reproaches! Pray tell me why you challenged that poor Comte de la Beriniere? what had he done to you?" "Nothing, to me; but he had done something to you, having stolen your promised bride from you." "Oh! my friend, if you reflect a moment, you certainly must feel that, on the contrary, he did me a very great service. But for him, I should have married a woman who never had the slightest affection for me, and who did not hesitate to toss me aside like a coat which you discard when you see an opportunity to get a handsomer one at the same price. That woman, who, as a reward of my constancy and the suffering she had caused me, did not hesitate to be a traitor to me a second time! Ah! my friend, I know her now, and I appreciate her at her real worth. A hard, selfish heart, overflowing with vanity, caring for nothing but money, recognizing no merit except that of wealth, incapable of the slightest sacrifice for others, and considering that everything is rightfully due to her. That's the kind of wife I should have had! Should I not be profoundly grateful to the man who was the cause of my rupture with her?" "Is it really you that I am listening to, Gustave? You, talking in this strain of Fanny? Why, then you must be cured at last of your passion for her?" "Oh, yes! radically cured; indeed, Cherami, what would you think of me if I still loved her after her last outrage?" "I should think that she had cast a spell on you, although I haven't much belief in magic. But you have ceased to love her, that's the main point. You know that the poor count died before he had married her? but not of his wound; he had an attack of indigestion." "It is very unfortunate for her; but I confess that I don't pity her." "There is one thing that you don't suspect--that she is now contemplating running after you."