"Fortuné called him out--he could hardly do less. The scar which you may have remarked on his face, Monseigneur, is a memorial of their encounter. It is where his false friend's bullet wounded him--he can never look in a glass without seeing that reminder. They used pistols, not swords--I do not know why--and drew lots for the order of firing. And though my son, since he fired second, had this man who had so deeply injured him absolutely at his mercy, though he was half beside himself with grief and rage, he spared him, for her sake, and fired in the air." "That was well done," said the Bishop. Mme. de la Vireville laughed. "Was it not, Monseigneur! It was not easily done, either, that I know. Can you guess what Fortuné's reward was? After a year she left this man, to whom she was not wedded, and married another." The Bishop looked very grave. "And your son, Madame, after so bitter a betrayal, has conceived a hatred of all women?" "Hardly that, Monseigneur. It is more hopeless even than that--for such an aversion might change. No, I am almost sure that against his will he loves her still. That is the tragedy." "She is still living--her husband also?" "I believe so." "Perhaps M. de la Vireville hopes to marry her in the end, if--as may so easily happen in these sad days--she should be suddenly left a widow?" "No, Monseigneur, he would never do that. He has never forgiven her. But he will not look at another woman. I think it would make no difference to him if he were to hear of her death to-morrow. For him she has long been dead . . . and yet she is alive. Would God she were not! Her lover was killed by his side at Quiberon; he told me the other day." She paused a moment, looking into the distance, and resumed, with a little gesture: "Do not imagine, Monseigneur, that Fortuné is always thinking of this. He is not a dreamer; he has always been a man of action, and a reckless one at that. It is but a scar now, I think, not a wound--but it is a scar with poison in it. And over there in Jersey, when I saw him with the little boy . . ." She stopped, and the tears came into her eyes. "Monseigneur, I believe that in his heart of hearts Fortuné desires as much to have a son as I desire to see him with one." "But," said the Bishop, "there is nothing to prevent his marrying some day, if he could cut himself loose from this memory. If he could so cut himself loose, the rest--you must pardon an old man, my daughter--the rest would not be difficult, would it?" "Monseigneur, a man who will not look at women is always attractive to them." The Bishop smiled. "I suppose that is true. Now would you be astounded to learn that, before you came, he used sometimes, in sleep or delirium, to repeat a woman's name? I suppose it was hers who betrayed him." "I do not think that likely, Monseigneur," said Mme. de la Vireville. "He has not mentioned her name for years. And that it should have been any other woman's is impossible."