Camors rushed toward Paris at the greatest speed of his thoroughbred, Fitz-Aymon, awakening along the route, by his elegance and style, sentiments of envy which would have changed to pity were the wounds of the heart visible. Bitter weariness, disgust of life and disgust for himself, were no new sensations to this young man; but he never had experienced them in such poignant intensity as at this cursed hour, when flying from the dishonored hearth of the friend of his boyhood. No action of his life had ever thrown such a flood of light on the depths of his infamy in doing such gross outrage to the friend of his purer days, to the dear confidant of the generous thoughts and proud aspirations of his youth. He knew he had trampled all these under foot. Like Macbeth, he had not only murdered one asleep, but had murdered sleep itself. His reflections became insupportable. He thought successively of becoming a monk, of enlisting as a soldier, and of getting drunk--ere he reached the corner of the Rue Royale and the Boulevard. Chance favored his last design, for as he alighted in front of his club, he found himself face to face with a pale young man, who smiled as he extended his hand. Camors recognized the Prince d’Errol. “The deuce! You here, my Prince! I thought you in Cairo.” “I arrived only this morning.” “Ah, then you are better?--Your chest?” “So--so.” “Bah! you look perfectly well. And isn’t Cairo a strange place?” “Rather; but I really believe Providence has sent you to me.” “You really think so, my Prince? But why?” “Because--pshaw! I’ll tell you by-and-bye; but first I want to hear all about your quarrel.” “What quarrel?” “Your duel for Sarah.” “That is to say, against Sarah!” “Well, tell me all that passed; I heard of it only vaguely while abroad.” “Well, I only strove to do a good action, and, according to custom, I was punished for it. I heard it said that that little imbecile La Brede borrowed money from his little sister to lavish it upon that Sarah. This was so unnatural that you may believe it first disgusted, and then irritated me. One day at the club I could not resist saying, ‘You are an ass, La Bride, to ruin yourself--worse than that, to ruin your sister, for the sake of a snail, as little sympathetic as Sarah, a girl who always has a cold in her head, and who has already deceived you.’ ‘Deceived me!’ cried La Brede, waving his long arms. ‘Deceived me! and with whom?’--‘With me.’ As he knew I never lied, he panted for my life. Luckily my life is a tough one.” “You put him in bed for three months, I hear.” “Almost as long as that, yes. And now, my friend, do me a service. I am a bear, a savage, a ghost! Assist me to return to life. Let us go and sup with some sprightly people whose virtue is extraordinary.” “Agreed! That is recommended by my physician.” “From Cairo? Nothing could be better, my Prince.”