"I don't wonder you are astonished, my dear De Montalvan. It's quite throwing myself away to marry any woman at my time of life. Think how many adventures I shall lose. I never intended to be married until I had risen to something like the glory of Richelieu. Imagine having two beauties fight a duel for you, for example! Richelieu was only twenty-two when Mesdames de Nesle and de Polignac fought for his favor. I am twenty-three, and no woman ever fought for me. At least, not that I am aware of." "Courage, De Berniers; if you had lived in Richelieu's day you would have had forty duels upon your account instead of one." "Quite likely. The age has degenerated. Some wine, De Montalvan. Yes, the affair was arranged by our relatives. Contiguous estates; enormous _dot_. I know very little about it myself, except that I am the victim. Apropos," added M. de Berniers, as energetically as was consistent with his sense of what a disciple of Fronsac owed himself, "you are at leisure. The contract is to be signed early in September. Come to Brittany, and help me through. They say Brittany is a fine country. I have never seen it, though I have a chateau there. Will you come?" De Montalvan looked keenly at his companion, as if endeavoring to detect some hidden meaning in these last words, drank some more wine, and remained silent. "Come, De Montalvan, an answer." M. de Montalvan scowled, and drank again. He appeared to be considering in what manner he could most readily make himself offensive to M. de Berniers. Presently he remarked, in a tone which was intended to be deeply satirical, but which his frequent imbibitions rendered merely malicious, "Have you made any wagers of late, my little friend?" M. de Berniers's countenance fell into the same expression of discontent as that which it had displayed on his companion's first appearance. He essayed a frown,--a feat it would have been difficult for him to execute at any time, but which was now simply impossible. He was not equal even to a distortion. But he answered spitefully: "To the Devil with you and your wagers! But I will make it even yet. Perhaps another time you will not dare to compete so readily." "Dare, Monsieur!" said De Montalvan, hastily. Then, checking himself, he added, more composedly: "But why should I quarrel with Fronsacquin? It is clear he knows nothing. If I must ease my mind by quarrelling, there are plenty hereabout," and he glared around quite savagely. His eye lighted upon a _brouette_, one of the small hand-carriages then in vogue, in which a large and heavily built young man was reclining, while the owner of the vehicle, a slender lad, toiled with difficulty before him. "Dare, is it, De Berniers? Do you see that sluggard, wasting this beautiful day in a lazy _brouette_? Ten louis that I have him out, and walking, as he ought, in less than five minutes." "You are mad, M. de Montalvan." "You decline?"