“I reckoned on calling upon her when I went out. She was too quick for me. Fomberteau sent her this reply,” and he took a piece of paper from his pocket. “Imagine Camille as she read this”— “'Dear friend, I had no duel to fight. Your Jacques therefore was not my second. Except that, all the rest is true. Set your mind at rest regarding both of us, and as it is press day please excuse me from coming in person to thank you for your kind anxiety.’ To this Camille has added a postscript: 'As you gave me an explanation yesterday which was not true, I have the right to another one, the true one, and I am waiting for it.’” “What time did you get this letter?” I asked him. “About twenty-five minutes ago. The messenger is waiting. I wanted to see you and know what she said to you. She has lost nothing by waiting. I am going to reply to her in my best style.” “I should be curious,” I said, “to know by what new scheme you will excuse yourself.” “I!” he replied as he sat down at a little table and began to write, “by none. I am telling her that I have not the least explanation to give her, and I do not wish her to allow herself another time to play tricks upon me as she did when she sent to Fomberteau.” “You will not do that,” I interrupted him quickly. “The poor girl loves you with all her heart. She could not bear the doubt. She thought you were lying to her and she wanted to know the truth. Come, is not that natural? Had she not the right? Be just. It is so simple to find another excuse. Rather tell her the truth as she asks for it; it will, too, be less trouble.” “There is only one slight objection,” Jacques replied as he fastened the note, rang the electric bell to summon the messenger, and gave it to him, “and it is that I should be perfectly happy if Camille quarrelled with me. That is, too, another principle as absolute as the regularity of work. When a man wishes to break with his mistress, the more insignificant the motive the better. My progress is so good in the other direction that I don’t need her any longer to urge on her rival. As you are my 'beater,’ and I know that you are as silent as a tomb, I will tell you everything in spite of those noble phrases about discretion, more especially as up to the present this confidence only compromises me. Last evening I obtained an appointment from Madam de Bonnivet. You would never guess the place though, not in a thousand times. At Pére Lachaise, before the tomb of Musset like the other girl. You don’t think that is very grand, do you? From the cemetery to the carriage is like the sublime to the ridiculous, and it is only one step, and from the carriage to a place of my acquaintance is the programme and only another step. For you know one never ought to take a woman to one’s own home. Under these circumstances Camille quarrels with me, so much the better! But don’t look at me as if you would like to say: 'My dear Molan, you are a monster.’”