what had happened and begged him to come and practise shooting with me next day. Although I could not afford to squander money, I still had sufficient to permit myself a turn once a month at Gosset's. I had become a habitué there. We reached the place about ten o'clock. "Philippe!" I shouted to the lad attendant as I passed in, "pistols No. 5 and twenty-five balls." Philippe came up. "You can have twenty-five balls," he said, "but not pistols No. 5, unless you are going to practise alone." "Why so?" "Because they were lent this morning to a gentleman who had a duel, and you should see the state in which he brought them back." And, indeed, the second No. 5 pistol had the trigger-guard broken and the butt end blown off. "What did that?" "Why! a bullet," said Philippe. "Quite so, but what about the gentleman who held it?" "He had two of his fingers cut." "Cut?" "Yes, cut!" "So he had to pay the price of two of his fingers?" "And also for the mending of the pistol." "What was this gentleman's name?" "I do not recollect his name; he was fighting with M. Carrel." "Stuff and nonsense!" "It's true." "Are you certain?" "Of course I am. M. Carrel's seconds brought back the pistols." "See," I said to Adolphe, "this will postpone my duel of to-morrow and no mistake." And then I related to him that my adversary had arranged to fight a duel with Carrel that very day, and that it was probably he who had had his two fingers injured. "It is very easy to find out," said Adolphe; "let us go and inquire." We went to M. X---'s house, and found that it was really he who had been fighting; he had had two fingers blown off--his third and little fingers. I sent up my visiting-card by his man-servant, and we took our departure. We had not gone more than two storeys downstairs when we heard the man running after us. M. X--- begged me to go in. I found him smiling in spite of his wounds, and very courteous in spite of his attack. "Pray excuse me, monsieur," he said, "for the liberty I took in asking you to come back and see me; I use the privilege of a wounded person." "Is your injury a serious one, monsieur?" I asked. "No--I escaped with the loss of two fingers from my right hand; and since I still have three left with which to write and tell you how sorry I am for having made myself unpleasant towards you, I have all I need." "You still have the use of your left to shake hands with me, monsieur," I said, "and that would be better than tiring your right over anything imaginable." We shook hands; conversed on indifferent topics; and then, ten minutes later, we took leave of one another. We have never seen each other since, and, as I have said, I have totally forgotten his name. I bear my memory a grudge, for I shall ever remember him with pleasure.