We left the forest, my father leaning on the arm of his second. One man with a torch preceded us, and lit us as we got into the carriage. "A strange end to our visit. Major von der Goltz," said my father. The Major bowed. "I shall remain at the Hôtel des Hollandaise in Frankfort for three days." The Major bowed. "Joubert!" said my father. And the carriage drove off; and, looking back, I saw Major von der Goltz and the jäger with the torch vanishing amidst the trees. We passed through Homburg at four o'clock, and at six of a seraphic morning spired Frankfort rose before us like a city in a fairy tale, so beautiful, so vague, so ethereal one could not believe it a city of this sordid earth. We stayed three days at the Hôtel des Hollandaise. Major von der Goltz called, and General Hahn. A paper was drawn up, I believe, signed by the seconds and my father, and by the chief jäger. It was done as a matter of formality, for the duel was perfectly in order. Then we started on our return home; and one evening, towards the end of September, we entered Paris and drew up at our house in the Avenue Champs Elysées. Though the Emperor and Empress were still away on their southern tour, the streets were gay--at least to my eyes. Oh, that Paris of the Second Empire--that lost city whose gaiety surrounds the beginning of my life, jewelled with gas-lamps or glittering in the sunlight! Whatever may have been its faults, its wickedness, its falsity, it knew at least the vitality and the charm of youth. Men knew how to laugh in those days, when the echoes of the Boulevard de Gand still were heard in the Boulevard des Italiens, when Carvalho was Director of the Opéra Comique, and Moray President of the Council. "At last!" said my father, as we turned in at the gates and drew up at the doorway. He had been depressed on the return journey--a depression caused, I believe, not in the least by the fact that he had slain his kinsman. The trouble at his heart was the blow. For a guest to strike his host in his own house was a breach of etiquette and good manners unpardonable in his eyes. Yet he had committed that crime. However, with our entry into Paris this depression seemed to lift. The major-domo came down the steps, and with his own august hands opened the door for us, and let down the steps, and gave us welcome with a real and human smile on his magnificent white, fat, stolid face--the face of a perfect servant, expressionless as a cheese, which would doubtless remain just the same were he, constrained by stress of circumstances, to open the door of the drawing-room and announce: "The Last Trumpet has sounded, sir."