"His second," said Vincent, (after a brief conference with that person,) "replies to my question, that Monsieur D'Azimart's wound has left him, for the present, no alternative." Upon this answer I took Vincent's arm, and we returned forthwith to my carriage. "I congratulate you most sincerely on the event of this duel," said Vincent. "Monsieur de M--(D'Azimart's second) informed me, when I waited on him, that your antagonist was one of the most celebrated pistol shots in Paris, and that a lady with whom he had been long in love, made the death of the chain-bearer the price of her favours. Devilish lucky for you, my good fellow, that his hand trembled so; but I did not know you were so good a shot." "Why," I answered, "I am not what is vulgarly termed 'a crack shot'--I cannot split a bullet on a penknife; but I am sure of a target somewhat smaller than a man: and my hand is as certain in the field as it is in the practice-yard." "Le sentiment de nos forces les augmente," replied Vincent. "Shall I tell the coachman to drive to the Rocher?" CHAPTER XXIX. Here's a kind host, that makes the invitation, To your own cost to his fort bon collation. --Wycherly's Gent. Dancing Master. Vous pouvez bien juger que je n'aurai pas grande peine a me consoler d'une chose dont je me suis deja console tant de fois. --Lettres de Boileau. As I was walking home with Vincent from the Rue Mont-orgueil, I saw, on entering the Rue St. Honore, two figures before us; the tall and noble stature of the one I could not for a moment mistake. They stopped at the door of an hotel, which opened in that noiseless manner so peculiar to the Conciergerie of France. I was at the porte the moment they disappeared, but not before I had caught a glance of the dark locks and pale countenance of Warburton--my eye fell upon the number of the hotel. "Surely," said I, "I have been in that house before." "Likely enough," growled Vincent, who was gloriously drunk. "It is a house of two-fold utility--you may play with cards, or coquet with women, selon votre gout." At these words I remembered the hotel and its inmates immediately. It belonged to an old nobleman, who, though on the brink of the grave, was still grasping at the good things on the margin. He lived with a pretty and clever woman, who bore the name and honours of his wife. They kept up two salons, one pour le petit souper, and the other pour le petit jeu. You saw much ecarte and more love-making, and lost your heart and your money with equal facility. In a word, the marquis and his jolie petite femme were a wise and prosperous couple, who made the best of their lives, and lived decently and honourably upon other people. "Allons, Pelham," cried Vincent, as I was still standing at the door in deliberation; "how much longer will you keep me to congeal in this 'eager and nipping air'--'Quamdiu nostram patientiam abutere Catilina.'"